


In Setheneras

by Arcadian90



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Fantasy, M/M, Mystery, POV Dorian Pavus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 111,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcadian90/pseuds/Arcadian90
Summary: Four years after the Exalted Council, Dorian Pavus is coming into his own as a magister and learning to live without the love he somehow lost along the way. But when Inquisitor Lavellan disappears while investigating a mysterious criminal network, Dorian finds himself caught up in a dark conspiracy. Now it’s up to him to save the man he loves – oh, and the rest of the world too, if it’s not too much trouble.
Relationships: Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 555
Kudos: 190





	1. Chapter 1

_**In Setheneras,**_ **a traditional Dalish song**

_In setheneras iras ar’an mala hamir_ In waking dreams where we now dwell

 _Girem ahn inan era’mana_ Captive to the past

 _Ebalir el boranehn_ Grieving for our lost joy

 _Ahn inan gasha mala danem_ What was once whole now sundered

 _An uth shiral mah em'an_ A long journey lies before us

 _Dera revasan_ To reach the place where freedom dwells

* * *

_Summer, 9:48 Dragon_

Boot heels rang out against the marble tiles. A slow gait. _Dramatic._ The speaker strolled between the lower benches, hands folded behind his back, voice echoing grandly under the high gilt ceiling. Every eye in the chamber followed his progress with rapt attention; only the slaves flanking the gallery, listlessly waving their embroidered silk fans, kept their gazes downcast. Their efforts were largely symbolic. Minrathous was a stone oven at this time of year, and all the fan-flapping in the world wasn’t going to change it. The sea breezes flitting between the marble columns were thick and clinging, and even the strategically-placed ice orbs, enchanted to a temperature well below that of anything in nature, brought little relief.

None of which deterred the speaker holding forth on the floor. Magister Grotius Philion wore the sweat on his brow as testament to the seriousness of his words, literally _dripping_ with gravitas. “These are dark times, colleagues,” he intoned as he continued pacing. “They call for boldness. Decisiveness. They call, above all, for leadership.” He’d reached the head of the chamber now, and he paused before the empty throne, as if inviting the assembly to imagine him seated there. Quite unintentionally, of course. Purely a coincidence. But these _were_ dark times, after all, and if the Archon were to meet an untimely end, well… It was always best to be prepared. “And so, my fellow magisters, I ask you.” Philion pivoted slowly, letting his gaze sweep the floor before rising to the balconies. “With the ox-men despoiling our shores, is it not merely prudence to make use of the gifts the Maker, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon us? Is it not, indeed, the only responsible course?”

The assembly was stirring now, a few sheep bleating in agreement.

“Shall we quail before our own power, too cowed by delicate foreign sensibilities to give our all in defence of our homeland? Or shall we embrace our destiny and uphold the Imperial legacy?”

He let the question hang in the air. Then, just as he filled his lungs for the final dramatic flourish:

“Ah! That’s bingo, I believe.”

The voice drifted down from the balconies like a stray leaf falling from a tree.

Philion glanced up in indignation, as if he’d just been shat upon by a bird. “I beg your pardon?”

“Bingo,” Dorian Pavus repeated, holding up a sheet of vellum and tapping it with a quill. “See here? I was only waiting on _Imperial legacy_ , which you were so kind as to furnish immediately after _destiny._ ”

“Pooh,” said the woman at Dorian’s side, frowning at her own card in elegant disapproval. “I was certain I had it this time.” Maevaris Tilani sighed and proceeded to fan herself with the page, gold bracelets jingling.

Dorian smiled inwardly. Trust Mae to one-up him on the showmanship.

A murmur ran through the lower benches. Half the chamber was trying to hide their smiles. The other half, Dorian reckoned, would cheerfully cut off his head and use it for a game of polo.

Philion balled his fists at his sides, moustache quivering with fury. “Once again, Magister Pavus, you cheapen this chamber with your childish antics.”

“I can assure my learned colleague there is nothing cheap about bingo,” Dorian replied airily. “Not when you’re playing for the finest equipage in Minrathous. Which is now mine, by the way, thanks to you. Ever so obliged.” He gave a courtly bow.

A sigh of impatience came from the Chamber Master, and he rapped the butt of his staff against the marble tiles. “Decorum, colleagues. Magister Pavus, you are out of order. Again _._ Do not force me to reprimand you.”

Dorian’s gaze travelled over the multitude of black leather straps that made up the top half of the Chamber Master’s vestments, but he somehow managed to restrain himself. Much as he enjoyed a good bondage joke, there was serious business at hand. “My humble apologies,” he said. “However, I would point out that my learned colleague is himself out of order, having exceeded his allotted time by a rather generous measure.”

The Chamber Master grunted. “Point of order noted. Magister Philion, please conclude your remarks.”

Philion’s eyes were still on Dorian, promising terrible retribution. “My motion is on the floor,” he said coldly. “I have said all I need to.”

“In that case, we shall pass directly to the vote.” The Chamber Master waved a hand, and the tallying crystal flared to life on its pedestal. “The motion on the floor is for the temporary suspension of Ordinance 641.b prohibiting the use of Certain Magics in the forging of weapons, for a period of one year, subject to renewal. All in—”

“Point of procedure,” Dorian called languidly, examining his fingernails.

The Chamber Master sighed and lifted his gaze to the Lucerni balcony. “Yes?”

“I might be mistaken, but I believe motions involving the amendment, withdrawal, or suspension of existing law in relation to Certain Magics must be voted on in the presence of the Archon.” Dorian glanced meaningfully at the empty throne, whose customary occupant was presently enjoying the private attentions of a truly gifted troupe of Antivan contortionist-masseuses, courtesy of the Lucerni faction.

Philion flushed an ugly purple. Rage? Humiliation? A bit of both, probably. Dorian almost pitied him, but honestly, a politician as experienced as he ought to have anticipated such a manoeuvre. The Lucerni might be a young, idealistic rabble, but they had Dorian’s devious little mind and Mae’s exceedingly deep pockets to draw on, which made them a force to be reckoned with. Nearly.

Even the stodgy Chamber Master was amused now. “Your command of the minutiae of magisterial procedure never fails to impress, Magister Pavus. Point of procedure noted and sustained. The motion is hereby deferred to the next session. And…”

Dorian couldn’t help smiling as the Chamber Master delivered the _coup de grace_.

“…having no other speakers on my list, I declare this session adjourned, and the Magisterium in recess. We will reconvene in the fall, and I wish you a pleasant summer, colleagues.” With a final rap of the staff, the magisterial season was at an end.

The benches began to clear, an excited buzz filling the chamber as the magisters gossiped like schoolchildren about the little drama that had just unfolded. “Well played, darling,” Mae said, giving Dorian’s arm a squeeze. “Now we just have to survive the summer.”

That would be easier said than done, judging from the murderous look on Philion’s face. Ah, well. What would summer in Minrathous be without an assassination attempt or two?

The old goat was waiting for them downstairs, of course. “I suppose you think you’re terribly clever,” he snapped, blocking their path. His hands still worked at his sides, and Dorian sensed just enough agitation in the Veil that he spread his own fingers warily, defensive spell at the ready. He doubted Philion would be foolish enough to start something here, in so very public a place, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Even so, it wouldn’t do to look _vexed_ , so Dorian pasted on his customary smirk. “Come now, don’t sulk. You may have lost this round, but we both know it isn’t over. You’ll be back on the agenda soon enough. And in the meantime, you’ll be busy as a little bee shoring up support for your noxious proposal. A bit of blackmail here, a touch of toadying there, a judicious sprinkling of threats. Just think what you can achieve in six weeks.”

“You recognize the futility of your actions, yet still you play your little games. I hope they amuse you, Pavus, because they will cost you dearly one day.”

Dorian _tsk_ ed. “And here I thought threats were meant to be issued _outside_ the Magisterial Chamber. Have I misunderstood the etiquette, Mae, or is this fellow just terribly gauche?”

“I think we both know the answer to that,” Mae said, sounding exquisitely bored.

“I do not threaten,” Philion growled. “I promise.”

“Oh, how very dull. Look, shall we just get on with it, then? I see your man over there.” Dorian inclined his head toward the stairs, where a servant waited with Philion’s staff. Weapons weren’t permitted on the senate grounds, but he had only to pass beyond the colonnade to claim it. “It’s been ages since this courtyard saw a good old-fashioned duel. I’d wager we’d put on quite the show, you and I. An elder statesman of the Imperium versus a hero of the Inquisition? Why, they’d sing songs about us all summer. What do you say?”

Philion looked him over scornfully. “Still picking fights in the schoolyard, Pavus? Your father was right about you. You were and always will be a contrary little child.”

Dorian’s back teeth came together, but his smile remained firmly in place. “A wise man, Magister Halward.”

“A wiser man would have known better than to make a nuisance of himself. That didn’t turn out well for him, did it? You should take care that you do not meet the same fate.”

There was a beat of silence. Dorian’s smile curved like a blade. Then he felt a warning hand on his arm, and realized he’d unconsciously gathered the Veil around him. He let go, but the damage was done; he’d let his temper get the better of him, and Philion sensed it as surely as Mae. The older man sneered in triumph. Then he turned on his heel and glided down the steps, snapping his fingers to bring his servant to heel.

Dorian cursed himself silently. After all this time, he was still letting taunts about the old man get to him. Nor was that his only sore point. It was galling, having his weaknesses so readily known. Not to mention dangerous. Good job the man hadn’t made an elf joke, or Dorian might’ve set the whole bloody place on fire, consequences be damned.

Mae released his arm with a sigh. “Thwarting his designs is one thing, darling, but you’re a fool to goad him. Aside from being a talented mage, he has more political clout than the lot of our allies put together. If he chooses to act against you, no one will make a peep.”

“Except you, of course.”

“Of course.” Mae looped her arm through his and started down the stairs. “My vengeance would be swift and terrible, but by then it would be too late. And I would so miss your company.” Cutting him a sidelong look, she added, “Even if you are a dreadful sourpuss these days.”

“Nonsense. I’m as charming as ever.”

She led them across the courtyard, keeping to the shade as much as possible. There were few trees in the old part of the city, but the ancient Imperium’s affection for massive dragon statues had the virtue of creating a few pockets of respite from the heat. “Charming you may be,” Mae said, “but you’re so full of vinegar I can practically taste it.”

“Vinegar? _Me?_ Don’t be ridiculous. I am honey incarnate. Why, just listen to this mellifluous voice.”

“Flowers wilt as you walk by. Milk curdles at your glance. Honestly, darling, and I say this as your friend, you are in dire need of a good roll. Why not stop by that place in the square, the one with the pretty elven boys?”

Dorian laughed hollowly. “Yes, because what I really want is to bed some pale shadow of my ex. Not to mention paying for the privilege, all while blithely ignoring the fact that the pretty elven boy in question is almost certainly a slave, whether literally or figuratively.”

“Dorian.” Mae stopped in the shadow of a stone dragon and gave him a look that was dangerously close to pitying. “It’s been two years. It’s time to move on, surely?”

“I have,” Dorian said, and if his voice was a little rough, it was only from raising it in the chamber a few minutes ago. “Truly. But that doesn’t mean I want to go back to the life I had before we met. I’m a different man than I was then, thank the Maker. Casual sex simply doesn't hold the appeal it once did."

"Fair enough. But you need something to occupy you. A hobby."

"Ah yes, a _hobby._ Crocheting, perhaps? Or competitive nug grooming?”

"If that's what takes your fancy. You can't spend all your time rattling about your estate, plotting the downfall of your rivals. Such petty joys are not enough to sustain a heart like yours." She patted his chest affectionately. "A hobby, darling. Think about it. But in the meantime - are you sure I can’t tempt you to join us this evening? You know I throw the very best garden parties.”

“Thank you, but I’m still nursing a headache from last night.” This was a lie, of course. But the truth – that he would rather gouge his eyes out with a spoon than spend another evening in the company of the glitterati of Tevinter society – might sound ungracious.

“Suit yourself.” Mae air kissed his cheeks. “Just do me a favour and take the long way home. After that scene on the stairs, I shouldn’t wonder if our friend has a nasty surprise waiting for you along the usual route.”

This was very good advice, and Dorian probably should have taken it. Which words, incidentally, would probably be etched on his memorial.

And as it turned out, Mae was only half right: The nasty surprise was waiting for him right in his own home. No sooner had Dorian walked through the gates than Austus, his normally unflappable Liberati seneschal, came flying down the steps to meet him, a sheen of sweat pasting his grey hair to his temples. The elf was sixty if he was a day and typically moved with the vigour of a potted fern, so the sight of him taking the stairs two at a time was not a little alarming.

"My lord, I'm afraid I have grave news." He held out a piece of parchment. "This was found tied to the gates a few minutes ago."

The note was written in an elegant hand, and stamped with a seal Dorian knew only too well. "Venatori," he growled. Maker's breath, they were like a weed. Every time you thought you'd torn up the last of them... "Austus, fetch my staff, and lay out my—"

"Already done. Armour on the bed, staff by the door. Harmon is waiting in your chambers to help you."

"Good man." Dorian scanned the note one more time, as incredulous as he was furious.

 _We have your mother_ , it said. _Come alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. I said I wasn't going to do this, and here we are. What can I say, I'm an addict.
> 
> Although this is technically a sequel to The Spaces Between, you don't need to have read it, since that fic follows canon pretty closely. However, if you're keen on backstory and you want to see Dorian fall in love, you can find that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601728/chapters/54014137.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by!


	2. Chapter 2

As a small boy, Dorian had often imagined coming to his mother’s glorious rescue. In his world of make-believe, Aquinea was kidnapped quite regularly. Usually by Qunari, sometimes by pirates, and - when Dorian was feeling ambitious - by Qunari pirates. Whatever manner of scoundrel was behind it, they were no match for Aquinea’s favourite (only) child, whose brilliance and magical talent were equalled only by his wit. (Dorian spent considerable time crafting the clever one-liners he would sling along with his spells. Indeed, the only element of these adventures receiving more attention was his costumes, cobbled together with childish ingenuity from his mother’s finest fabrics and jewels – at least until she started hiding them in the wine cellar.)

As a man, however, Dorian was considerably less eager to rush to Aquinea’s side. The brief thawing in relations that had heralded his return to Tevinter was long since over. These days, he only spoke to his mother when absolutely necessary – which made her a rather odd choice of hostage, in Dorian’s view. But hostage she apparently was, and filial duty demanded that he rescue the woman, however estranged they had become. Thus did he find himself standing outside the gates of an abandoned estate on the outskirts of Old Town, steeling himself for what promised to be a rather lively exchange.

The gate was simple iron, designed to withstand an assault, as was common with older homes. Enchanted, of course, as were the walls, beyond which Dorian could see nothing but the tops of a few cyprus trees. He was blind in the magical sense as well, the vibrations of magical interference given off by the walls being expressly designed to prevent scrying. Ah, well. A spot of improvisation would do him good. He’d hate to think life as a politician had turned him _soft_.

Dorian rapped on the gate with his staff. “Delivery,” he said, congratulating himself on how bored he sounded. “One sacrificial lamb, as ordered. Though I do think you’ll find the fare spicier than you bargained for.”

The gate swung open on shrieking hinges, revealing a neglected courtyard. Weeds poked between the cobblestones, framing a dried-out fountain covered in mildew and bird droppings. Thickets of what might once have been rose bushes clung to the walls, providing ample nesting ground for all manner of vermin. It was a shame, really, to see an old place like this go to ruin. More than a few estates belonging to Venatori leaders had been left to rot after their masters were exiled, executed, or otherwise disposed of. There was a resolution before the Magisterium to reclaim the neglected properties on behalf of the city, but it was forever being shunted aside in favour of more important matters. Dorian made a mental note to revive the proposal. If this was the sort of use these old abandoned homes were being put to, the matter was more urgent than he thought.

But first things first. Time to rescue Mummy dearest.

“I’ll want to see her, of course, before I proceed,” he called into the empty courtyard.

A moment later, Aquinea appeared in a second story window – neither bound nor gagged, which was a little surprising. She looked more annoyed than afraid, which was less surprising.

“Do come in,” said a voice, and it seemed to emanate from several places at once. Glancing up, Dorian tracked the sound to a series of gargoyles perched along the eaves. The stone was old and unremarkable, but when the voice came again, the eyes flared with a vibrant blue light. “We await you in the western parlour,” the gargoyles said in unison.

“What a charming enchantment,” Dorian observed. “Terribly convenient for communicating with the gardener, I should think. As for the parlour, I’ll have to decline. I’ve used up my allotment of stupid for the day.” He took a few steps into the courtyard and stopped. “This is as far as I’ll go.”

“You are in no position to set conditions,” the gargoyles grated.

“Come, now, you’ve lured me to your lair. Why belabour the point?”

There was a stretch of silence. Aquinea was pulled from the window, and for a moment Dorian wondered if he’d overplayed his hand. Then the front door of the manor swung open, and a thickly-muscled Qunari woman sauntered down the steps, an axe slung over her shoulder.

Dorian frowned. She was Tal-Vashoth, obviously, but that hardly illuminated matters. The Venatori were Tevinter supremacists. They would never associate with… “Ah,” he said, as the truth sank in. “A clever bit of subterfuge, posing as Venatori. No one will question my death at the hands of a well-known enemy. Which provides a convenient smokescreen for whoever hired you.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” the mercenary said, baring her teeth in a smile.

“Someone’s taken great care to cover his tracks. Who would go to such trouble, I wonder?”

The woman just smirked. “A lady never tells.”

“I don’t suppose I could outbid him, whoever he is? I am exorbitantly wealthy, you know.”

The Qunari laughed, rich and throaty and altogether too self-satisfied. “That wouldn’t be good for future business, now would it?”

“Can’t blame a fellow for trying,” Dorian muttered. “Very well, you’ve got what you wanted. Release my mother and let’s get on with it.”

“Why would I do that? She still has worth to me. Her uncle will pay handsomely for her release.”

“Double-dipping?” Dorian wrinkled his nose. “A trifle crass, don’t you think? Besides, if it’s ransom you want, I can easily oblige. Let me see her again, up close, and I’ll make you an offer.”

“I have already shown you that she lives. What more do you need to see?”

“Why, the condition of the merchandise, obviously. One doesn’t pay full price for bruised fruit.”

“You seek to bargain for your own mother’s life?” The Qunari gave him a disgusted look. “I thought you humans cared for those that bore you.”

“Some more than others,” Dorian said with a thin smile. “Now let me see her.”

At a gesture from the Qunari, a second mercenary emerged from the manor, shoving Aquinea before him. Her dark eyes swept over Dorian in rebuke, as if the entire business were his fault. “So this is how you value your family, Dorian?”

His mouth twisted wryly. “Is that what we are? Related by blood, certainly, but I’m not certain we rise to the level of _family_. Not anymore.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Really, it was a shame they hadn’t gagged her.

“Enough,” the Qunari snapped. “As you can see, she has not been harmed. Now, what will you offer?”

“A well-placed shot, I should hope.”

He waited. Crickets chirped in the heat of the afternoon.

Dorian cleared his throat. “I said, _a well-placed shot_.”

More crickets. The Qunari grinned, showing her teeth again. “Is that your signal, then? I’m afraid your man is indisposed.” A grunt sounded from behind Dorian, and he turned to find his valet, Harmon, being propelled through the gate by yet another mercenary. The elf had been relieved of his bow, and sported a fresh black eye.

Well, shit.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Harmon said. “I thought I was well concealed, but—”

“But we were expecting you, Harmon,” the Qunari said in a smug singsong. “Your reputation precedes you, my Dalish friend. As do the reputations of your colleagues on the surrounding rooftops.” She pointed lazily at the neighbouring buildings. “All of whom are now in my custody. You have talented servants, Magister Pavus. Which is why we took the trouble of luring you here, instead of simply raiding your home.”

The unique skill set of Dorian’s household staff was hardly common knowledge. If these mercenaries were so well informed, it meant there was a spy in his service.

For the first time, Dorian began to wonder if perhaps he might be in over his head.

Best to strike quickly now that he’d lost the element of surprise. If he could freeze the man holding his mother, he might just have a chance—

A pulse of energy slammed into Dorian like a body blow, sending him staggering. The spell he’d been summoning scattered like ash on the wind. His connection to the Fade had been severed; in its place was a buzzing numbness, and his ears rang so keenly that his eyes watered. A mercenary appeared on one of the balconies above, smirking as he lowered his hand from the holy smite he’d just delivered.

The Tal-Vashoth smiled again. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to hire ex-templars these days,” she said conversationally. “We have half a dozen in our company alone.” Even as she spoke, they were crawling out of the shadows like cockroaches, armour gleaming in the sunlight. He’d been right about vermin in the shrubbery after all.

 _Fool. You should have seen that coming._ That was why they hadn’t gagged Aquinea. They didn’t need to; they could interrupt her casting six times over. Nor was that their only insurance: A pair of archers appeared in the windows, bows drawn and ready. “Bit of overkill, don’t you think?” Dorian rasped, still catching his breath from the force of the smite.

“I’m not a woman who gambles,” the Qunari said. “The great Dorian Pavus, hero of the Inquisition? One of the most battle-hardened mages in all of Thedas? There’s no such thing as overkill.”

“Always gratifying to have one’s talents recognized.”

“And yet it’s so easy to render you all but powerless, even without a collar. What odd creatures you are, _bas saarebas_.” She descended the steps and strolled toward Dorian, axe in hand. “Any last words, Magister Pavus?”

Dorian tried to muster something clever, but his throat had gone unaccountably dry. Then a shout sounded from somewhere outside the gate, followed by a clash of steel on steel. Dorian licked his dry lips. Dare he hope that his people had escaped?

“Gared,” the Qunari growled to the man holding Harmon. “Bring that one to me. The rest of you, go see to whatever that is.” Half a dozen mercenaries charged out of the gate, leaving four behind. “Don’t get your hopes up, mage. My men line these streets for blocks around. Not that it matters. Your time among us is at an—”

A low hum whizzed past Dorian’s ear, followed by a gurgling cry, and he glanced up in time to see the templar on the balcony pitch over the rail, a dagger buried in his throat. He hit the cobblestones with a nauseating _smack_ ; even the Qunari winced and looked away. A heartbeat later, a wet gasping sounded from behind, and the man holding Harmon staggered backward, grasping pitifully at the fountain of blood pouring out of his throat. A hooded figure stepped out from behind the dying man and sprinted across the courtyard, diving into a roll to avoid the arrows raining down from above. Dorian caught a glimpse of silver hair, but that was all, and before he could fully process what was happening, the man holding Aquinea was dead and the Qunari had been slashed across the back of the leg, severing a tendon and dropping her to her knees. The hooded figure didn’t even break stride, charging up the stairs and disappearing into the manor, and a moment later, more shouts sounded from within.

With the surviving templars occupied by the commotion outside the gate, Dorian was free to cast, and he threw a barrier over his mother even as the archers loosed a second volley. The arrows bounced away harmlessly, and Dorian slung a bolt of ice at one of the windows, freezing the man in the act of nocking another. But before he could deal with the second archer, a swordsman came charging out of nowhere, sword flashing. Dorian turned to face him, only to see the man tackled to the ground by a snarling black beast. A very large, very angry wolf clamped her jaws around his sword arm and jerked her head viciously until the screaming fool dropped the weapon. Then she paused, muzzle drawn back over gleaming fangs, apparently contemplating whether to tear the man’s throat out.

“Maggie,” Dorian said. “ _Ma dur._ ” The wolf obeyed, climbing off the still-screaming warrior to stand at Dorian’s side. “Good girl,” he added, patting her head gingerly lest he get blood on his sleeve.

By this point, the Qunari was back on her feet. She posed little threat with her hobbled leg, but Aquinea must have been feeling cross about the whole kidnapping thing, because before Dorian could stop her, she’d dispatched the Tal-Vashoth with a vicious arc of lightning that left the corpse twitching for several seconds.

“Mother.” Dorian sighed. “We needed to question her.”

Aquinea shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “You still have that one.” She gestured at the wounded swordsman, curled in a ball of agony on the flagstones. “And whoever is left inside.”

Dorian gave a humourless smile. “I can assure you there is no one left inside. Not unless one of them surrendered.”

“No one did,” said a voice. The hooded figure appeared in the doorway, a dripping dagger in each hand.

Dorian’s chest tightened, a familiar ache tugging at his insides. “I’ll say this for you, Lavellan. You still know how to make an entrance.”

The figure pulled his hood back, revealing a shock of silver hair and a startling pair of blue-green eyes. His hair was longer than it had been the last time Dorian saw him, and his skin more tanned, giving the green _vallaslin_ twined over his left eye a darker cast. The mechanical hand was new, and obviously more sophisticated than Dagna’s original design. Other than that, he was just as Dorian remembered, and still the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

Aquinea’s eyes widened slightly at the name, her gaze cutting between her son and the elf and back. Dorian barely noticed, absently stroking Maggie’s fur while he and his ex-lover shared their first glance in over two years, each of them silently marking the subtle differences left by time.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t send word,” the elf said at length. “We only arrived this morning.”

“We?”

The elf tilted his head toward the gate. “The commotion outside. That wasn’t your men, I’m afraid, though I hope they’ve been freed by now.”

As though summoned by his words, three of Dorian’s people appeared at the gates, out of breath but otherwise unharmed. “My lord, are you all right?” Tarea, who was a fine cook and an even finer swordswoman, looked relieved. “Please forgive us for not arriving sooner, but we were ambushed, and—”

“It’s all right. Is everyone safe?”

“Yes, my lord. We have allies in the field. A Qunari and his men.”

“Ah,” Dorian said. “Brought the Bull’s Chargers along, have you, Inquisitor?” They were still hard at work, from the sounds of things. The clang of steel still echoed down the street, and a flash of light now and then testified to the presence of at least one mage. “Shall we lend a hand?”

Nodding, the elf turned to Tarea. “There are a number of bodies inside the house. They should be searched for any information they might be carrying, as should the Qunari there.”

“Right away, Inquisitor.” The cook/warrior headed for the manor at a jog.

“Harmon, was it? Please stay with this one.” The elf pointed at the wounded mercenary. “See that he doesn’t move.”

“As you say, Inquisitor.”

Aquinea watched this exchange with an incredulous expression. It baffled her, seeing her son’s men follow the elf’s orders without hesitation. She’d never understood what he was, not truly, and Dorian couldn’t help smirking. _What’s the matter, Mother? Never seen a demigod before?_

The elf gestured at the gate. “After you, Magister Pavus.”

“Dorian,” Aquinea interrupted tartly. “Are you going to introduce me to my rescuer, or has your time in the south made a barbarian of you?”

“Apologies, Mother.” Dorian gave an ironic bow. “May I present Inquisitor Setheneras Lavellan. Inquisitor, this charming creature is my mother, Lady Aquinea Pavus, née Thalrassian.”

“Inquisitor.” Aquinea nodded formally.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Seth said, inclining his head in return. “Though Inquisitor is no longer my title, as your son well knows.”

Dorian shrugged. “A title for life, surely, even in retirement? Now come along, both of you. I’d like to make sure my people are safe.

The elf wasted no more time, pulling up his hood as he headed for the gate. That lovely silver hair was rather too distinctive, and retired or no, Inquisitor Lavellan was still a target, especially here.

“That’s him?” Aquinea said in an undertone. “The man you…” She trailed off, apparently incapable of finishing that sentence.

“The man I almost married? Why yes, it is.”

“He’s…”

 _He’s perfection_ , Dorian thought ruefully. _Still. Always._

 _There, you see, Mae? I’ve completely moved on._ “Bugger and damn,” he muttered, heading for the gate.

Seth was already well ahead of them. Dorian broke into a jog to catch up, but he didn’t get far before a pair of mercenaries came charging out of an alley, blocking his path. Behind him, he felt his mother gather the Veil, and he started to cast a spell of his own, but before either of them could let loose, an arrow hissed down from above, striking one of the mercenaries in the groin. He went down howling, while the second crumpled in silence, a crossbow bolt buried between his eyes.

“Nut shot!” Sera cried out merrily from the rooftops. “Ten points!”

A second crossbow bolt silenced her howling victim. Then a familiar craggy face peered over the parapet. “You’re supposed to kill them, Buttercup, not maim them horribly.”

“Says you.”

Varric glanced down at Dorian. “You all right, Sparkles?”

“Oh, passing well. Though I’d appreciate you lot leaving at least one of these blighters for me.”

“Duly noted,” said the dwarf, disappearing behind the parapet once more.

Aquinea shook her head, baffled all over again. “And who are these people now?”

Dorian flashed a tight smile and started down the street. “ _That_ , Mother, is my family.”


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Dorian and Aquinea reached the square at the far end of the street, the skirmish was over. Half a dozen bodies littered the cobblestones, and the Chargers were searching them for valuables and life signs (in that order). The area was otherwise deserted, the wise citizens of Minrathous having retreated indoors at the first sign of trouble.

“Well, well,” said Dalish, glancing up from the body she was looting. “If it isn’t everyone’s favourite magister.”

“Not everyone’s, apparently,” Dorian said, arching an eyebrow at the bodies of the men who’d been sent to kill him. “I daresay— _urk._ ”

The rest of the sentence was squeezed out of him as a massive pair of arms wrapped around his chest and hoisted him off the ground. The Iron Bull roared an inarticulate greeting and shook him as if he were searching for loose change. “Good to see you, big guy!”

“ _Vishante kaffas._ ” Dorian twisted his face away from the Qunari’s body, tears springing to his eyes. “You’re even riper than I remember.”

“Hey, it’s hot in this place.” Bull dropped him back on his feet, and Dorian drew a grateful lungful of air. “Plus, a guy works up a sweat kicking the shit out of Vints. Oh, no offence, ma’am.” This last was directed at Dorian’s mother, whom he’d just noticed. She glared at him as if he were a misbehaving toddler, which Dorian reckoned was a better introduction to Aquinea Pavus than anything he could have offered.

“Their leader was Qunari, actually,” he said, straightening his infringed clothing.

Bull grunted in surprise. “Didn’t think there’d be many Tal-Vashoth still kicking around this place, what with the war. Left him alive, I hope?”

“ _Her_ , and I’m afraid that didn’t work out.” Dorian gave his mother a wry look, which she ignored.

“We did manage to keep one for questioning,” Seth put in.

“Doubt he’ll be able to tell us much,” Bull said. “Most merc captains keep the details of a job on a need-to-know basis. I’ll say this, though. Whoever hired these guys really, really wanted you dead, Dorian. An operation this size is expensive.”

“It’s more than expensive,” Seth said. “It’s _excessive._ All this for one mage? A very skilled mage, obviously, but…”

“You flatter me, Inquisitor,” Dorian said dryly. “But if you lot don’t know who’s behind this either, then how did you learn of his plans?”

Seth narrowed his eyes. “I covered that in my letter. And I mentioned that I’d be bringing Bull along, yet you seemed surprised about that, too. Do I take it the message never reached you?”

“I thought you said you couldn’t send word?”

“That we’d arrived, yes. But I sent a warning about the plot to kill you nearly a month ago.”

Dorian swore under his breath. “Someone must have intercepted it.” Yes, there was most definitely a spy in his household.

“I feared as much when you didn’t answer. That’s why I decided to come myself.”

By this point, Sera and Varric had found their way down from the rooftops, and the dwarf chipped in his two coppers. “How about we continue this reunion someplace a little less out in the open? At least one of their guys got away, and I’d rather not find out if there’s a Plan B.”

“We’re staying at an inn not far from here,” Seth suggested quickly. “Seems as good a place as any to talk.”

Bless the man. He knew how much the idea of inviting a bunch of sweaty mercenaries into his home would appeal to Dorian. But his mother would insist on being part of the conversation, and taking Aquinea Pavus to a _public house_ wasn’t an option. Besides, it wouldn’t be so bad. He could hardly wait to see Austus’s face when he arrived with a one-eyed Qunari, a bare-chested dwarf, and a misfit pack of mercenaries. Oh, and _Sera_. Already, he could picture the fastidious seneschal ordering the furniture covered, the wolf bathed, and the silver locked up. It promised to be highly entertaining.

“Nonsense,” he said. “We’ll go back to my estate. Once we’ve dealt with our would-be assassin, of course.”

And if that meant he got to spend just a little more time in the company of a certain silver-haired elf, well… that was just a fortunate coincidence.

* * *

As predicted, the wounded mercenary failed to divulge anything of use. Krem had gone to fetch the city guard, and they would make a great show of investigating, but that was likely to prove a dead end as well. If Dorian wanted to get to the bottom of this, he was going to have to roll up his embroidered sleeves and do it himself.

But first, he was going to provide a glorious feast for the wonderful people who’d sailed across the Waking Sea to save his life – or at least, the nearest his staff could manage on short notice. Happily, the Chargers were eager to spend some of their hard-earned coin on the pleasures of the big city, so the entourage that made its way back to Dorian’s was a slightly more manageable size.

He waved the gates aside and led the way into the courtyard, sighing in relief as the shade of the gardens embraced him. “Welcome,” he said carelessly over his shoulder. “If you’ll follow me—”

A long whistle cut across his words, and he turned to find Varric taking in his surroundings with an awed expression. “Not bad, Sparkles. Not bad at all.”

Sera snorted, sounding half impressed, half annoyed. “Knew it. Shits gold.”

Dorian cast a slightly embarrassed glance around him. True, the mosaic under his feet was spectacularly detailed, depicting a life-sized dragon in flight. The marble columns magically veined with bloodstone _were_ rather striking, the serpents and halla horns twined around them glittering with unnatural iridescence. But it was the terraced gardens themselves that were truly awe-inspiring, a glorious riot of lush green foliage and cascading flowers that freshened the air and dappled the light into glittering shafts of gold and green. Violently-coloured flowering vines climbed the walls, coiling around pillars in garlands of red and purple and pink. Clouds of wisteria tumbled over the balconies, their delicate petals speckling the serenity pool below. The spice of jasmine and citrus hung redolent in the evening air. And spreading over it all, the massive, ivy-draped limbs of one very large, very enchanted Dalish ironwood imported from the Emerald Graves.

“You can thank the Inquisitor for the beauty in which you find yourself,” Dorian said wistfully. His forest creature never could abide walls.

_This city is an island of stone. If I’m going to spend any time here, I need someplace to breathe._

Dorian had readily agreed, and the elf had personally overseen every detail of this little oasis.

Blue-green eyes travelled over it now, surveying the progress of his botanical babies. Then his gaze fell to Dorian, and the look that passed between them pressed like a physical weight against Dorian’s chest.

He cleared his throat. “The ironwood roots are murder on the tiles, of course. Thankfully, I have a very talented landscaper. His manipulation of finicky force magic is unparalleled.”

“Unparalleled, you say?” Bull made an elaborately impressed noise.

“Oh, shut up. This way.”

Austus met them on the stairs. “My lord, I’m relieved to see your lady mother is well. And…” His eyes widened, and he swept into a bow so low that Dorian feared his aging bones might never unfold. “ _Andaran atish’an_ , Inquisitor. What a great pleasure to see you again. I was not aware you were among the party.”

Dorian snorted. “So you are capable of deference, you old boot.”

“When it is due, my lord,” the seneschal returned smoothly. “Tarea asked me to inform you that she sent some of her people down to the docks in time for the evening catch.”

He frowned. “Didn’t I give her the night off?”

“Yes, my lord, but I believe she wishes to show her gratitude to the Inquisitor and his colleagues for coming to her aid. Harmon has also elected to remain on duty, and awaits you in your chambers to help with your armour.”

“Maker’s breath. Not a single one of you listens to me, do you?”

“We have other fine qualities, my lord. Shall I show your guests to the washing rooms?”

“Please do. Starting with the Qunari.”

“Hey.”

Aquinea’s dark eyes followed the seneschal as he led the others inside. “I can’t believe you tolerate such insolence from your servants.”

“Further proof, if any were needed, that you really don’t know me at all.”

Seth lingered on the stairs, scanning the gardens in search of his wolf. Maggie had embarked on a survey of her own as soon as they arrived, inspecting all her favourite nooks and crannies with a keen nose. No doubt she was busily re-marking her territory as well, to the gardener’s future delight.

“Oh, let her explore,” Dorian said. “I’ll wait for her. You go ahead.”

Seth hid a smile. He knew perfectly well what this was about. “After you, my lady,” he said to Aquinea, drawing her off to give Dorian some privacy.

When he was certain he was alone, Dorian whistled softly, and Maggie came bounding out of the bushes, tail wagging furiously. He crouched and ruffled her fur with both hands, trying very hard not to grin like a fool while he fended off her excited attempts to lick his face. “Now, now. I’m very pleased to see you too, my darling, but there will be none of that.” Sighing, he murmured, “ _Yours_ are not the kisses I long for.” Maggie was not troubled by this, and managed to land a cheeky one on his chin all the same.

 _Best hope none of the servants spots you fawning over your ex’s dog_. His reputation would never recover.

He freshened up and joined the others, who’d gathered on the western gallery for a spot of sherry. “There’s flowers in your soap,” Sera informed him, as though perhaps he were unaware. “And there's a tap stand right in the basin, with hot water and everything. Is it true there’s a closet where you stand and have it showered all over you? And that the privy shoots water up your arse?”

“All true. And after that, the towels pat your arse dry all on their own.”

“Really?”

Dorian snorted and poured himself some wine.

“Pretty sure he made that last one up, Buttercup,” Varric said, laughing. “Though flying ass towels do sound pretty great.”

Aquinea had selected a seat as far away from the rest of them as possible without overtly giving offence, and she observed this exchange with a look of elegant distaste.

Seth glanced at her. “Now imagine they’re all in the Winter Palace, and you’re in charge.”

That earned him a smile, at least. “I shan’t be staying for dinner,” she announced, and Dorian endeavoured not to faint from surprise. “So perhaps we could get down to business? You say you learned of this plot a month ago, Inquisitor?”

“Actually, it was Sera who first got word, through her _friends._ ” He glanced at Dorian meaningfully.

“Interesting.” Dorian chose a seat directly across from Seth. It put his back to the gardens, but the view was prettier all the same. “I wasn’t aware the Red Jennys had a presence in Minrathous.”

“Good sized one, too,” Sera said. “Lots of little people angry with the nobs around here.”

Well, _that_ was certainly true. “But you weren’t able to trace it back to the source?”

She shook her head. “You know how it goes. A stable boy told a kitchen girl about a kid in the market whose uncle heard it in a tavern… All we knew was somebody was planning something nasty for a certain magister who was getting on everyone’s tits. Figured it had to be you.”

Varric chuckled. “Now, now, Buttercup, that’s not quite true. Rumour had it the magister in question was a friend of the Jennys, which narrowed it down some.”

Dorian glanced at the dwarf. “Are you a Jenny now?”

“Me? Nah. I was working with Frosty and Buttercup on a separate matter when the information came through. Figured I’d tag along, for old times’ sake. Gives me a chance to say hello to some old friends while I’m at it.”

“How did you know the attack on my son would be today?” Aquinea asked, keeping them on point.

“We didn’t,” Seth said. “Nor had we heard anything about their plans for you, my lady. Varric stopped by the house to announce our arrival, and one of the servants told him what was going on. Otherwise, we’d have missed the whole thing.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “So you knew of the plot nearly a month in advance, and you just happened to arrive on the very day it was set into motion?”

“I know, right?” Bull rumbled. “Pretty big coincidence.”

“It is suspicious,” Seth agreed. “Then there’s the fact that these mercenaries were expecting Dorian’s people. They knew exactly who they were looking for and where they would be.”

Bull lowered his voice. “Which means you got a leaky boat, big guy.”

“Yes, I’d already reached that conclusion.” Dorian sighed. “Our friend really has gone to a great deal of trouble. And yet somehow, word of his plans still managed to reach your ears all the way in Orlais.” After having circulated through half the population of Minrathous, apparently. Something didn’t add up.

“Any idea who might want you dead?” Varric asked.

Dorian laughed hollowly. “This is Tevinter, my friend. There’s a rather long list. In fact, I just added a new name today.”

Aquinea glanced at him. “Who?”

“Oh, just Philion.” He gave a careless wave.

“He is not a man to be taken lightly, my son. But…” Her brows came together, and she sat back in her chair, looking thoughtful. “Neither is he likely to be responsible for this affront. Indeed, I have a difficult time imagining any political rival would contrive anything so inelegant.”

“Agreed,” Dorian said. “This simply isn’t our style.”

“Maybe it really was the Venatori,” Bull said.

“I don’t think so.” Dorian twirled his wineglass meditatively. “It’s all rather mysterious, isn’t it?”

“Which means you’re still in danger,” Seth said. “Both of you.”

“I thank you for your concern,” Aquinea said, “but I suspect they won’t attempt the same trick twice. Even so, I will be vigilant. And I’ll make a few inquiries of my own. I still have significant resources at my disposal.” Her dark eyes flashed dangerously. “Whoever is behind the attempt on my son’s life, he should pray you discover him first, Inquisitor. Because if I do, he will beg for death.”

“Why, Mother, I didn’t know you cared.”

Aquinea shook her head. “You are an impossible creature, Dorian.” She rose, bracelets jingling as she smoothed her silk robes. “To the rest of you, I bid good evening. Enjoy your dinner, and thank you again for coming to my son’s aid. He is fortunate indeed to have such loyal friends.” Her gaze fell back to Dorian, still comfortably seated. “No, don’t get up, I’ll show myself out.”

All right, that _was_ poor. He tried to make up for it. “You’ll take my carriage, of course? And I’d feel better if Harmon went with you.”

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. The carriage, however, I will accept with thanks.” With a final, frosty look at her son, Aquinea took her leave.

When she was out of earshot, Sera made a sour face and put on her snootiest accent. “ _You are an impossible creature, Dorian._ ”

“To be fair,” Seth said, “he is.”

Things loosened up considerably after that. Sherry gave way to wine and then whiskey. Dorian gave his friends a brief tour of the grounds, then set them loose to explore while they waited for supper to be announced. He’d hoped to catch Seth alone, and luck was with him: He found the elf in the study, contemplating the massive Dalish tapestry that was his last acquisition before…

Dorian swallowed hard. He’d had two long years to think about what he would say when he saw his former betrothed again, and now all those carefully crafted words vanished like smoke on the wind. For a moment he actually considered retreating, but that would be cowardly, and besides – Maker only knew when he’d see the elf next.

 _Pull yourself together, Pavus. It’s only Seth._ He’d shared the most intimate moments of his life with this man. The innermost secrets of his heart. He could manage a casual conversation, surely?

He was about to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

It was astonishing, really, how difficult it was to start a conversation with someone you’d almost married. Where did one even begin? _What have you been up to for the past two years? Oh, you know. Governing. Spot of adventuring here and there. Occasionally crying myself to sleep. You?_

Dorian decided to keep it simple. “You should have it,” he said, indicating the Dalish tapestry with a nod. “You chose it, after all. I’ll have it sent to the villa.”

Seth turned his head, smiling in profile. Such a lovely profile. As many statues as had been made of Inquisitor Lavellan, none did him justice. The jaw was always too angular, or the lips too lush. The nose was too delicate, the cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Every fine feature exaggerated, with all the elegance and softness removed. The true beauty wasn’t in the fullness of that mouth, but in the hint of mischief tugging at its corners. The perfection of that nose lay in its single flaw, a tiny bump just below the bridge where it had been broken. And those eyes… serene as still water, except when they burned, with determination or curiosity or raw desire. No stone, whether worked by hand or magic, could capture that.

“Thank you for the offer, but you should keep it.” Seth turned back to the tapestry, rubbing his left arm absently where it attached to the artificial limb. “It looks good in here. Besides, I’ve decided to sell the villa.”

“Oh?”

“It’s too big for one person. I’ll stay in the Emerald Graves, I think, but someplace more modest.”

Dorian tried to keep his expression neutral. They’d chosen the villa together. There were as many traces of him there, Dorian reckoned, as traces of Seth here. Little by little, those traces were being erased, and soon there would be nothing left but memories.

An aching sadness welled up inside him. _Maker, how did we let this happen?_

Swallowing, he said, “How goes the restoration?”

Seth had spent considerable funds – and a great deal of political capital – restoring the elven temple of Din’an Hanin to its former glory, using his memory of the Temple of Mythal as a guide. His fellow Dalish had taken some persuading, especially since it required the involvement of non-Dalish craftsmen in trades that had been lost to the People long ago. Those who would have been most stridently opposed, however, had already been lured away by the siren song of the Dread Wolf, leaving only more moderate voices to weigh in. The remaining clans had agreed to the restoration on the condition that Dalish artisans would be used wherever possible, and that their keepers would be consulted where matters of lore were in dispute. It was a passion project for Seth, whose deep love of history and the arcane could finally be indulged now that he had something resembling free time on his hands.

“It’s coming along,” the elf said. “Slower than I would like, and there’s been a predictable amount of bickering, but the work is beautifully done.”

“Bickering?”

“Oh, you know. My entirely made-up idea of how this ought to look is _elfier_ than yours. Like measuring dicks, but with pointed ears.”

Dorian laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time around Sera.”

“What about you? How’s life in the Magisterium?”

“It turns out the business of governing is largely rather pedestrian. We’re at war with the Qunari, there’s an ancient elven god plotting the downfall of the world, and yet I seem to spend most of my time discussing municipal sanitation.”

Seth's mouth quirked. “All that bullshit has to go somewhere, I suppose. I can think of few people better suited to directing it.”

“Yes, yes, very droll. And the book?” Seth’s opus on the history of the Dalish had been finished for quite some time, but as far as Dorian knew, he had yet to publish it.

“Ah, yes. The book.” He sighed. “I’ve decided to hold off until the restoration is complete. Some Dalish aren’t going to like it, and I’d rather not risk half our artisans walking off the job.”

“It’s a masterwork, Seth. You must share it with the world.”

“Someday.” He was still massaging his arm, the little knot between his eyebrows testifying to the discomfort it gave him.

“Does it bother you often?” Dorian studied the gloved hand more closely. “It looks as though it ought to be more comfortable than the last one.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Seth flexed the fingers, and the fluidity of the movement was truly impressive. Between the glove and the vambrace covering his forearm, most people wouldn’t even notice at a casual glance that it was mechanical. “But there’s no shock absorption, so when I put weight on it…”

“Such as, for example, when you dive-roll heroically under a hail of arrows?”

He smiled. “I’m not sure two arrows constitute a _hail_. But yes, it’s uncomfortable.”

“Let me.” Dorian held out a hand. “I’m still no healer, but I can help with the pain, at least.”

Seth tensed. “It’s all right,” he said, starting to twist away.

“Be still, Inquisitor. I don’t bite. Not unless you want me to.” Dorian told himself this was merely the sort of meaningless flirting he would engage in with anyone, and not at all indicative of a genuine desire to nibble on any part of the elf’s person. An ear, say, or a nipple, or the laces of his breeches, to say nothing of what lay underneath said breeches, which Dorian was certainly not thinking about.

He’d almost managed to convince himself until he started to unlace the vambrace. Then the elf’s scent hit his nose, a familiar breath of pine needles and fresh air, and a flood of memories washed over him. Curled up on the sofa together, reading. Stolen kisses in the forest, just beyond the glow of Inquisition campfires. Making love by a roaring fire while snow blanketed Skyhold.

_Ar lath 'ma vhen'an, bellanaris._

Dorian glanced up to find those magnificent eyes on him, and he knew he wasn’t alone on this little stroll down memory lane. He was near enough now that he could hear the elf’s breathing, just a little faster than it had been a moment ago; he had only to lean in, and their lips would meet.

He dropped his gaze, focusing on the vambrace. This was taking entirely too long. When had his fingers become so clumsy? “Given up on your decadent Tevinter haircut, I see.”

Seth laughed. “It was too hard to maintain. It’s not as though there’s a wealth of Tevinter barbers running around the Emerald Graves. I suppose I must look like a bit of a savage now.”

“You always looked like a bit of a savage, _amatus_.” The word slipped out before he could stop himself, and Dorian winced inwardly. Ploughing ahead, he went on, “But it always suited you. If I’m honest, I prefer your hair a little longer.”

“And I like your… sideburns? Beard? What do you even call that?” Fingertips ghosted along the side of Dorian’s face, tracing the fine line of facial hair that sketched the edge of his jaw. Another branch hugged the curve of his cheekbone, and Seth’s thumb brushed that, too, his head tilted like an artist considering a painting. His touch tingled like Veilfire, and Dorian’s breath hitched, his fingers faltering in their task. He glanced up to see a look of mild panic arc through Seth’s eyes as he realized what he was doing, and the hand dropped away hastily. “It almost looks like _vallaslin_ ,” he said, ploughing through his own mistake. “That’s some delicate razor work.”

“You have no idea. If you thought my primping took a long time before…” At last the vambrace came free, and Dorian hissed sympathetically when he saw the state of the skin underneath, chapped and swollen and mottled with fresh bruises. He paused, taking a moment to fight down the surge of rage that always accompanied the sight of his beloved’s maimed arm. It usually helped to imagine himself strangling Solas, but Seth’s nearness was utterly intoxicating, and it made for a disorienting combination. Sex and murder were awkward bedfellows, even in Tevinter.

“There’s a poultice I use.” The elf’s smooth tenor thrummed in Dorian’s ear. “But I left it at the inn.”

“We’ll put some lotion on it, at least. But first…” Now that he had a clear line of sight, Dorian called up what meagre healing powers he possessed and focused them on Seth’s arm. Cradling the limb in both hands, he let the magic roll off him in carefully controlled pulses, washing over the elf’s skin like waves lapping gently at the shore. The downy hairs on Seth’s arm lifted, and he sighed in relief as the pain began to ebb.

“You’re better at this than I remember,” he remarked.

“You can thank Morrigan for that. Not the most patient of tutors, but effective.”

“Was this the consolation prize so you’d stop begging her to teach you shapeshifting?”

“Begging.” Dorian _tsk_ ed.

“My mistake. Dorian Pavus never begs.”

“Well, now, we both know _that’s_ not true, Inquisitor.” He didn’t look up to see the blush he knew would be there. Flirting was one thing, but Seth’s adorable flashes of modesty brought out the predator in him, and it wouldn’t do to get carried away. Instead, he concentrated on the task at hand, glancing around the study in search of hand lotion. Dorian took his moisturizing regimen very seriously, and made sure to have a jar of the stuff in virtually every room of the house. “Ah,” he said, retrieving one from his desk. “Best take that off, don’t you think?” ****

Seth did as he was told, grasping the limb with his good hand and giving it a twist. A rune flared, and the connecting end opened like flower petals, releasing his stump with a mechanical _click_. Then he reached for the lotion. “I can do this part myself—”

“Hush. It will take me half the time.” Dorian scooped his fingers in the jar and set to work, massaging the lotion into Seth’s forearm with both hands – gentle at first, where the artificial limb connected, then more firmly as he worked his way up the arm, kneading the stiff muscles underneath.

Entirely clinical, of course. Quite professional. Until it wasn’t, the dizzying effect of Seth’s nearness overwhelming his better judgement. He wasn’t massaging now so much as stroking, a meandering caress that travelled up the elf’s arm and back again. Gooseflesh broke out beneath his fingers, and he felt the other man’s pulse quicken in time with his own.

It was no good. He was drunk with it now. He paused, fingertips tracing little circles on the elf’s skin. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you how badly I want to kiss you right now,” he said, his voice husky.

“I…” Seth drew an unsteady breath. “I want that too, Dorian. But we can’t.”

“Why not?” he whispered, though of course he knew the answer.

“Because it won’t stop there, and we both know it.” Seth pulled away, retreating a few steps to prop himself against the desk. “It would be too easy to fall into your arms again, and that would put us right back where we started.” He shook his head. “I can’t go through that again. It’s too hard.”

Dorian drew a long breath. “You’re right, as usual.” Much as he wanted it – Maker, he was practically _trembling_ with it – Dorian knew the hangover from that sex would be devastating. “Thank goodness one of us has some sense.” Of course, it wasn’t sense Dorian lacked, but discipline. The temptation was simply overwhelming – a problem Seth clearly didn’t share. It hurt, seeing how easy it was for the elf to step back. He’d moved on, it seemed.

 _If you were a better man, you’d be happy for him_. Then again, if he were a better man, maybe Seth wouldn’t have left him in the first place.

“Back to business, then,” he said with convincing nonchalance, and if he jammed the stopper back in the jar with just a little more force than was necessary, the elf didn’t seem to notice. “I think we ought to entertain the possibility that today’s festivities were not intended for me after all.”

Seth sighed, retrieving his artificial limb and holding it against his arm. The rune flared again, and the mechanical flower petals closed around his stump. “It’s crossed my mind,” he said, flexing his fingers experimentally. “It would explain how word of the plot reached Orlais without once leaking to your allies here in Minrathous. But that theory leaves us with just as many questions. If I’m the target, why lure me all the way to Tevinter? Why not just strike at me in Orlais?”

“Perhaps they sought the advantage of home ground.”

“Which would mean what? Venatori? I thought you said that wasn’t very likely.”

“Believe it or not, I have been wrong before.”

Seth smiled. “Rarely. And anyway, that still wouldn’t explain why they chose Minrathous as their battleground. They might be stronger here, but they’re hardly unfettered. I’m not convinced it would provide much of an advantage. Then there’s the question of why they would kidnap your mother if it’s me they want.”

“That part, at least, I believe I understand. If they’d kidnapped me directly, you would have suspected a trap and prepared accordingly. By making it look as though the snare was set for me, they hoped to catch you with your guard down. Judging from the numbers involved, they suspected you would bring a friend or two, but not, I daresay, _quite_ the entourage you travelled with. Speaking of excessive.”

“I wasn’t taking any chances,” Seth said, his eyes suddenly solemn. “Not with you.”

Dorian forced a smile. “There you go, being all sentimental. Honestly, how do you expect me to get over you when you keep giving me these wretched glimmers of hope?”

A look of consternation flitted across the elf’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to—”

“I’m joking,” Dorian said breezily. “The point is, on the face of the evidence, I think it’s quite possible that I was merely a prop in this affair.”

“If that’s true, then I’m very sorry for it.” Sighing, he added, “And I need to leave as soon as possible.”

“What? Why in Andraste’s name would you do that? Better to root out the problem and deal with it, surely?”

“And put you and everyone around you at risk?” Seth shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t be wise. If you’re right and someone has lured me here, they thought it was to their advantage. Better to remove that advantage by returning home. Bull and the Chargers can stay behind and investigate – and keep an eye on you and your mother, just in case. Besides, I have matters to attend to back home.”

“But, Seth…” _I just got you back. I can’t let you go again._ But of course that wasn’t true. He didn’t have Seth back, and he would have to let him go again, one way or another. “How can I just sit back and do nothing if your life is in danger?”

“Dorian.” Seth smiled ruefully. “My life has been in danger since before I met you, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. I could become a hermit in the Hissing Wastes and there would still be someone, somewhere, who wants to kill me. I can’t let that define me, any more than you let the dangers here define you. That’s the life we’ve chosen to live.”

 _And that’s why we can’t be together._ He didn’t say it aloud, but he didn’t need to.

Dorian sighed. “Damn you, Setheneras Lavellan. Why couldn’t you just be a nice, domestic boy with a fondness for goat-herding?”

“Yes, because you’d fall head over heels for a goat-herder.” He shrugged, a cheeky smile tugging one corner of his mouth. “Don’t blame me if you have extravagant tastes. We both do.”

“Well, _that’s_ certainly true.” Dorian sighed again. He suddenly needed another glass of wine very badly. “And speaking of extravagant tastes – dinner will be ready any moment now. Shall we round up our merry band?”

“After you, Magister Pavus,” Seth said, and he gestured at the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um... sorry about this. All I can ask is that you trust me. In the meantime... maybe grab some tissues?

It’s a chilly spring morning. Dorian finds his lover out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Some part of him is vaguely aware that the elf shouldn’t be here. That this might be a dream, or a memory, or both. But the sight of that silver hair is like sunshine melting away the mists of his doubt, and by the time Dorian steps onto the balcony to join him, he’s forgotten there’s anything wrong at all.

Seth gazes out over the gardens, an untouched cup of tea going cold in his hand. Dorian slips his arms around the elf’s waist and tucks his face into his neck, taking a deep draught of his scent. Mornings like these are all too rare, and he always tries to savour them. If there’s a silver lining to living apart, he supposes, it’s that one rarely takes his lover for granted.

The elf is quiet. Something is troubling him, Dorian knows. His lover’s visits to Tevinter are few and far between, and their first night together is usually a decidedly energetic affair. But last night’s lovemaking was oddly subdued, and Seth has barely said two words this morning.

Dorian is about to broach the silence when Seth says, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

It’s a dishonest question. He knows exactly what the elf means, and the first stirrings of anxiety flutter inside him.

“This.” He stares resolutely at the gardens, as if he can’t bear to meet Dorian’s eye. “Being apart. Being a shadow at the edge of your life. It’s too hard.”

Dorian swallows. They’ve had versions of this conversation before, but not like this. There’s a bleakness to the elf’s tone that sinks to the bottom of his stomach. “You’re not a shadow in my life, _amatus._ You’re the man I love.”

“But I’m not with you, and you’re not with me. Most of the time, you’re just a voice inside a crystal. A memory. Sometimes it feels as if you’re not even really there at all, and I’m just going mad.”

“I know this is difficult.” Dorian kisses the silver hair. “It’s hard on me, too. So very hard. But we’ll get through it.”

“That’s just it.” He turns at last, his eyes clouded with resignation. “I don’t see where this ends. I don’t see how it gets better.”

“Just give me another year or two, and…”

Seth tilts his head, giving Dorian an almost pitying look. “How many times have we said that? Just a little longer? Only I remember when _a little longer_ was measured in months instead of years.”

He’s right, of course. _Six months_ , Dorian promised him at the Exalted Council. _Nine at the outside._ Enough time to establish himself as an independent voice in the Magisterium. For his association with the Inquisition to fade, blunting any suggestion that he’s the puppet of a foreign power. But nine months became a year. A year became two. And now he’s asking for two more.

“You have your work,” Seth said. “Important work, and I’m so proud of you. I would never try to take you away from that. All I asked was to be a part of your life, but you won’t let me. You keep me on a shelf like… like a bottle of whiskey you only bring out for special occasions. You take a sip, and then you put me away again, for months at a time, and I’m just… alone. Waiting.”

“It’s not what I want. You know that. It’s still too dangerous for you here.”

“That’s never going to change, no matter how long we give it. And the work you’re doing here… It’s the work of a lifetime, Dorian. Deep down, you know that, or we’d have gotten married years ago. You’re trying to live two different lives, hoping they’ll merge one day, but it’s not possible. And me… I’m left with half a life.” He turns back to the gardens, and when he goes on, it’s as if he’s speaking to himself. “When I left my clan for the first time, I learned what loneliness meant. I was a wolf without a pack. But then I joined the Inquisition, and everywhere I turned, there was someone. I was still alone, but I was part of something, too. I had a purpose. A _life._ But this… this isn’t a life. Haunting the villa like a ghost, day after day, night after night, missing you…” He stops. Draws a deep, shaking breath. “I can’t anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Are you leaving me, Seth?” It’s barely a whisper.

He sighs. “You left me a long time ago, Dorian. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

“What happened to…” Dorian’s throat closes around the word. Swallowing, he tries again. “What happened to forever?”

Seth closes his eyes fleetingly. “I will love you forever. But it’s like you said to Cole all those years ago. Sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

Dorian feels lightheaded. He braces himself against the railing. “It doesn’t have to be so final. We can... I don’t know. Find a way.”

“We tried, _vhen’an._ ” Seth lays a hand against Dorian’s face, and his eyes are wet. “We did our best. It’s no one’s fault. But you were right.” He smiles, even as a tear spills down his cheek. “You’re always right.”

Grief floods into the hollow of Dorian’s chest. He’s sinking like a ship with a cracked hull, down and down, and for the first time in his life, he can’t think of a single word to say.

Seth ducks his head and removes the Dalish promise necklace from around his neck, the intertwined halla horns Dorian gave him when he swore his eternal love. The dragon bone clinks softly against the sending crystal, fastened like a second charm against the halla horns.

Dorian can’t even look at it. “At least keep the sending crystal with you,” he rasps.

The elf shakes his head. “That would only make it harder.”

Harder? What could possibly make this harder? It hurts so much he can scarcely breathe.

_Stay._

He wants so badly to say it. But if his choices are to set his lover free or watch him die, it’s no choice at all.

“You’ll thank me for this someday,” Seth says, and Dorian wonders which of them he’s trying to convince. “You’ll meet someone here, and…”

“Yes,” Dorian hears himself saying. “I’m sure you’re right. It’s hard to hear now, but…”

“It’s for the best.”

“Yes,” Dorian repeats mechanically. “For the best.”

Seth kisses his cheek. “I’ve already packed,” he says. “My ship leaves today.”

* * *

Dorian woke with tears in his eyes and an ache in his chest he hadn’t felt since… Well, since the last time he had this bastard dream. It had been a while, but the details were as sharp as ever. Why was it the most painful moments in one’s life were those that most lingered? But no – they didn’t just linger. They recurred, again and again. Like malaria. Or a venereal disease.

“ _Kaffas_ ,” he muttered, swiping angrily at his damp cheeks. He rolled over and glanced out the window. Outside, dawn was breaking. Seth’s ship would be setting sail. Perhaps it was already gone.

No matter, Dorian told himself. Today was a day like any other, and he had things to do. Things that did not include pining for a man who’d left him two years ago.

He got up, threw cold water on his face, and tried not to think about when, or if, he’d see the elf again.

* * *

Seth leaned against the rail of the quarterdeck, watching as Minrathous receded on the horizon. As many times as he’d stood at the stern of some ship, taking in this same view, the sight never failed to drag at him like an anchor. It should have been different this time. He wasn’t leaving anything behind, at least not anything that belonged to him. So why did it still feel like something was being torn out by the roots?

“Copper for your thoughts.” Varric hopped up on a crate, propping his elbows on the rail as comfortably as if he were about to order a jug of ale at the bar. He looked good on a ship, Seth thought. The rough-hewn face. The earrings. The chest. Especially the chest.

“I was thinking you would make an excellent pirate,” he said with a smile.

Varric chuckled. “Not a chance. I’ve known too many pirates.”

“I was also thinking how nice it would be to make it all the way to Vyrantium without any vomiting whatsoever.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t count on that. Buttercup’s already looking a little green around the gills.” He glanced back at the forecastle, where Sera sat cross-legged on the deck, glaring out at the waves as though she could get them to stop rolling through force of will alone. “Glad to hear you’re focusing on the here and now, though. Instead of, say, moping about a certain someone.”

“I don’t mope, Varric. I brood. It’s completely different.”

Once upon a time, a line like that would have been enough to distract the dwarf, but they’d known each other too long. “What you do, Frosty, is deflect.”

Seth cut him a wry look. “I suppose I can’t argue. If anyone would know what deflecting looks like, it’s you.”

“Damn right. And I know a thing or two about fraught relationships with your ex, too, so if you want to talk about it, I’m here.” He shrugged. “Or you could just keep doing the strong, silent thing. Whatever works.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.”

“You do know you don’t have to be the Herald of Andraste anymore, right? You’re allowed to let your guard down once in a while. Have real, actual feelings. You don’t want to talk about them, that’s up to you, but just do me a favour and don’t let them stew. That shit is poison.”

The words called up an echo from another lifetime. _This thing you do… It’s not healthy. It will poison you,_ amatus.

Seth sighed. “You sound like Dorian.”

“That’s… not a sentence I would have expected to hear in my lifetime, but okay.”

There was a stretch of silence. Wind tugged at Seth’s clothing, carrying all manner of briny scents to his nose. They called up memories of his first voyage to Minrathous, an experience he’d found subtly terrifying. Though he’d crossed the Waking Sea a handful of times, those trips had been relatively short, and never out of sight of land. The Nocen Sea was an altogether different animal, and Seth had been completely unprepared for the _nothingness_ of it. He’d grown up in the green embrace of the forest, thick and close and teeming with life. This desert of water, stretching unbroken for eternity in every direction... It was unfathomable, exposed and yet somehow claustrophobic, even more so than the oppressive walls of Skyhold. Gradually, though, Seth had learned to appreciate the sea. Even to look forward to it. The sea brought him to Dorian. It brought him _home_.

No longer.

“I knew this wouldn’t be easy,” he said quietly. “But it’s harder than I thought. I guess some things, when you lose them...” Unconsciously, he flexed the fingers of his artificial hand. “You never stop missing them.”

“I figured as much,” Varric said. “The way you two were making puppy-dog eyes at each other all night... It was hard to watch.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“When the two of you disappeared before dinner, the rest of us thought maybe…”

Seth snorted softly. “You had a wager, didn’t you? A bet on whether I’d sleep with him.”

“Money may have been exchanged.”

“Who won?”

“Tiny. He said you’d think about it, but when push came to shove, you’d be too damn stubborn to cave.”

Seth gave a hollow laugh and rubbed his eyes. “He almost lost that bet.”

On a scale of one to ten, where ten was defeating an ancient darkspawn magister while nursing broken ribs and a concussion, resisting the advances of Dorian Pavus was a solid nine-and-a-half. Seth had never met anyone so sexually magnetic in all his life. From day one, it had been a struggle to keep his hands off the mage, a temptation he’d felt obliged to resist in his capacity as the Idiot in Charge. The humans had decided he was their holy herald; they would presumably take a dim view of him mounting the Tevinter mage at the earliest opportunity. At least back then, he’d had demons and darkspawn to distract him, not to mention a healthy dose of scepticism about the mage’s intentions. But now…

When Dorian turned those gorgeous hazel eyes on him. Poured that honeyed voice in his ear. Traced those long, elegant fingers over his skin, mouth curled in that sultry little smile… The memory alone was enough to send a delicious shiver down Seth’s spine.

And then, of course, there were the _feelings_.

All his life, Seth had been the quiet one. Contemplative. Safe in his own skin, content to observe the world with a wry smile, maybe stir the pot now and then, when the mood struck. He found it easy to attract lovers – and to move on when things had run their course. _Atish’manen_ , his sister called him. _Still waters._ And then he met a man who moved him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. Dorian Pavus was the moon that roiled Seth’s still waters into a heaving sea, and even now, two years later and thousands of miles away, Seth could still feel his pull.

“I thought I would be past this by now,” he murmured, gazing at the fading outline of Minrathous. “The whole point of leaving was so that I could be free. What if I can never get free?”

Varric sighed. “I wish I had an answer for you, kid. If I knew how to cut heartstrings, I’d have done it long ago. But when they get their hooks into you that deep…”

 _You bleed forever_ , Seth finished inwardly. _And so do they._

Dorian had known it, too. He’d been so afraid to give Seth his heart, and when he finally did, it hadn’t exactly been a graceful surrender.

_You bloody bastard. We’re both going to regret this, you know._

Seth had refused to believe that. And when it came right down to it, he still didn’t. “I can’t regret what we had. We paid a heavy price, but for a time it was…” He paused, searching for the word in the common tongue, but it wouldn’t come to him. He shook his head in frustration. “ _Druast._ ”

“Sorry, can’t help you. I know about five words of elven, and that’s not one of them.”

Another stretch of silence, broken only by the rush of water and the keening cry of gulls.

“Look at it this way, Frosty. If what my contact says is true”—Varric patted his breast pocket, where he’d tucked the letter he’d received last night—“you’re not gonna have time to worry about it anyway.”

Seth blew out a breath. “I have a bad feeling about this one, Varric.”

“I always have a bad feeling when there’s red lyrium involved. But you’re right, this shit could get ugly. So you’d better put on your shit-kicking boots, Inquisitor.”

The dwarf hadn’t been gone long before Maggie took his place, propping her front paws on the rail and letting her tongue hang out in the breeze. Seth couldn’t help laughing. “You goofy girl,” he said, ruffling her fur affectionately. “Have some dignity. You’re meant to be a Knight’s Guardian, for pity’s sake.”

Maggie’s only concession to this solemn duty was to eye the gulls trailing their ship, as if daring them to come closer.

“What do you say?” Seth murmured, tugging her ears. “Fancy a spot of world-saving? It’s going to be dangerous, but you don’t mind, do you?”

Maggie barked and wagged her tail.

Seth scratched her head absently as he stared out over the sea, and suddenly it came to him, the translation he’d been struggling for a moment ago.

The word was _holy_.


	6. Chapter 6

_Autumn, 9:48 Dragon_

Dorian scowled at the letter on his desk. The nerve of these cretins, demanding his vote on a motion they knew perfectly well he didn’t support. They might have at least offered him an exchange. A few votes on his refugee bill, say, or his initiative to improve sanitation in the elven slums. Instead they had the audacity to invoke Halward Pavus. His late father, apparently, would have wanted him to vote this way. And oh, by the way, something something class loyalty. _Class loyalty?_ Had they _met_ him? Dipping his quill, he started to write an elegant, well-reasoned reply, but he was tired and cranky and it was well past the appointed cocktail hour, so he kept things simple.

_Kindly go fuck yourselves. Strong letter to follow._

“Excuse me, my lord.” Austus appeared in the doorway of the study. “Your lady mother is downstairs.”

Oh, _marvellous._ What a perfect way to end the day. Dorian briefly considered repurposing the message he’d just penned, but he wasn’t nearly brave enough for that.

“Shall I lay out your battle gear, my lord?” the seneschal deadpanned.

Dorian snorted appreciatively. “I think not, but let’s keep some sleeping powder on hand. At my signal, you slip it into her drink.”

“Very good, my lord.” The seneschal bowed and departed.

Dorian headed for the sideboard and poured himself a dram of _manise_ , wincing as the potent Dalish spirit hit the back of his throat. It wasn’t the most refined batch – Dorian was a novice at the art, and Harmon was no help, having never learned himself – but it was at least starting to resemble the herbaceous juniper spirit Loranil used to distill at Skyhold. Typically, Dorian mixed it with soda water and lemon bitters (a drink he and Seth had dubbed _The Tonic_ ) but he didn’t have time for that now.

He set his glass down. Hesitated. Poured another dram and swallowed it, blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes. Thus fortified, Dorian headed for the lounging area in the gallery.

Aquinea’s eyes narrowed the moment he walked in, as if she could tell at a glance that he’d downed a generous gulp of elven hooch in order to face her. Completely his imagination, of course. Probably.

“Mother.”

“Dorian.”

“What a pleasant surprise.”

Aquinea’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure.”

He took a seat and waited for her to announce the purpose of her visit, but she merely stared at him, one eyebrow slightly raised as if in challenge. Aquinea Pavus was a beautiful woman still, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, radiating sophistication and a faint whiff of permanent disdain. It was impossible to guess what she was thinking at any given moment, except that it wasn’t likely to be flattering.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here, Mother?”

“Are you going to offer me a drink, my son?”

Dorian turned to call for the serving girl, only to find Austus approaching with a silver tray. “I took the liberty of preparing two tonics, my lord,” the seneschal said, setting a cut crystal goblet in front of Aquinea and another in front of Dorian. Between them, he arranged a series of elaborately painted ceramic bowls containing the usual assortment of spiced olives, crumbly cheeses, dates, and so forth. This was, in Dorian’s view, a little too hospitable, and he shot the elf a vaguely annoyed look, which of course Austus ignored. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

 _Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you’d like to massage her feet while you’re at it._ Aloud, Dorian said, “I believe that will suffice.”

Aquinea, meanwhile, took a hesitant sip of this unfamiliar drink, and her eyebrows arched in appreciation. “This is rather good. What is it?”

“A cocktail of my own devising, the basis of which is a distilled elven spirit.” He smiled, taking petty pleasure in this announcement, but his mother merely took another sip.

“I quite enjoy it. You must give Justus the recipe.”

“You did hear me when I said it was _elven_?”

“And? Should I clutch my pearls and faint clean away?” Aquinea gave an elegant little snort. “Honestly, Dorian, as many times as you’ve accused me of not knowing you, has it occurred to you even once that it might go both ways?”

“I suppose it must,” Dorian said coolly, “considering how very little time we spent in each other’s company when I was growing up. But presumably you didn’t come here to reminisce.”

Aquinea paused. Something flitted through her eyes that Dorian couldn’t quite place, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by the familiar steely expression. “I have new information regarding the attack against us.”

“That was two months ago.”

“Discreet inquiries take time. But first, tell me – did you unmask the spy in your service?”

Dorian made a dismissive gesture. “A kitchen girl. Completely ignorant of what she was involved in, of course. Thought she was helping her lover with a bit of blackmail. We tracked down the lodgings of the rogue who seduced her, but shockingly enough, the young man was nowhere to be found. One of the mercenaries, I assume. Hopefully, one of the dead ones.”

“And the man you turned over to the city guard?”

“I pulled a few strings so the Iron Bull could observe the interrogation. Despite a more… _vigorous_ approach to questioning, they didn’t get much more out of him than we had, and what they did learn seemed largely to confirm what we’d already guessed. Namely, that you and I were merely the bait.”

Aquinea sniffed in displeasure. It piqued her pride, serving as the worm on a hook. If she was going to be kidnapped, she would prefer it to be on her own merits. A silly sentiment, of course, which Dorian did not share in the slightest.

“The mercenaries were told to expect a third party, and ordered to eliminate them at all costs. It seems, however, they were not informed that the party in question would include Inquisitor Lavellan.” Dorian’s mouth quirked wryly. “Apparently, the chap considered this something of an oversight.”

“Poor lamb. He ought to take it up with his employer.”

“As to that, he still insisted he’d never met the party who hired them, but he did give the name of the tavern where the hiring took place. Bull paid it a visit, hoping to get a description.”

“And?”

“No luck, but he did learn that a number of ex-templars had passed through the place. Foreigners, mainly, from Orlais and the Free Marches. A few Fereldans.”

Aquinea’s dark brows came together. “In Minrathous, of all places? Curious.”

That was one word for it. Dorian could still hear Bull’s wary tone as he related the news. _Someone’s hiring a shitload of ex-templars. That’s fishy. But they’re doing it in the heart of the Imperium. That’s_ really _fishy. Don’t know if it’s got anything to do with our friends in the square, but I’d keep an eye on that situation if I were you._

When a former Ben-Hassrath told you to keep your eye on something, it was officially troubling.

“Bull promised to send word if he came across anything else in his travels. And that’s all I have for you, I’m afraid.” Dorian swirled his drink, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Your turn.”

“While I was enjoying the hospitality of my captors, I observed them ransacking the estate they were keeping me in. The place had long since been emptied of any valuables, of course, so they must have been looking for something in particular. That piqued my interest, given the previous occupant.”

Dorian hummed in recognition. “Magister Faustus, wasn’t it? Venatori, of course.”

“And a scholar of some renown. Apparently, he was tasked with various forms of research on behalf of Corypheus. Not unlike your mentor, Alexius, and several others.”

“I’m aware. Most of those names came to light some years ago. They were dealt with, either by the Inquisition or the Magisterium.” With no small assistance from Dorian, naturally.

“Yes, well done you. Except none of you seems to have given much thought to the estates they left behind, and whether some of them might still hold secrets your agents overlooked.”

Dorian frowned. “They were checked.”

“Not very well, evidently, because Faustus’s estate wasn’t the only former Venatori residence to be ransacked in recent weeks. Half a dozen have been turned inside out in this city alone. Someone has been very busy.”

Dorian cursed under his breath. “This is the first I’ve heard of this. Why wasn’t the Magisterium informed?”

Aquinea flashed a thin smile. “This is Minrathous, my son. Silence is bought and sold every day.”

Dorian drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. So it was Venatori after all? But no, that didn’t make sense. If they were actually Venatori, they’d have known where to find whatever they were looking for. “A carrion crow, then. Some opportunist looking to capitalize on Venatori research.”

“My conclusion as well. I thought to lay a trap for them at the Corali residence, which didn’t seem to have been touched yet. I’ve been biding my time, but they have not shown themselves. Either they got wind of my plans, or they’ve already found what they were looking for.”

Venatori secrets falling into the wrong hands, sold to the highest bidder or worse… It was even more worrying than stray templars. “But what does any of it have to do with Lavellan?” Dorian muttered. “The Inquisition was disbanded years ago. He still has irons in the fire, but his attentions largely lie elsewhere. Why bait the wolf?”

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do? He’s returned to Orlais. I’ll write to him, he’ll thank me politely and carry on with whatever deadly bit of nonsense he’s up to, and I’ll try not to think about the day when I get a letter informing me that Inquisitor Lavellan is gone forever.”

Aquinea sipped her drink, regarding her son with a tilt of her head. “You still love him.”

“Was that a question?” he asked tartly. “It didn’t sound like one.”

“And he still loves you.”

“Oh, really? You spent all of five minutes in his company, yet you managed to glimpse the innermost chambers of his heart? I had no idea you possessed such keen powers of perception, Mother.”

“It does not require any special powers. Only eyes.”

He scowled. “You’ll forgive me, I trust, if you are literally the last person in Thedas I wish to discuss this with. Father being _dead_ and all.”

It was unworthy of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it back, either. Though he knew his mother had had no part in Halward’s plans – had been furious when she learned of them – she hadn’t reached out to her son afterward. Not to ask how he was, or welcome him home, and certainly not to apologize. Aquinea Pavus was too proud for anything like that.

 _I think she’s afraid_ , Seth had told him once. He’d never met the woman, but Dorian had spoken of her often enough for him to form an idea of her. _If she admits any wrongdoing, if she opens that door even a crack, it will force her to confront her own role in what your father did, however passive or unwitting. She’s afraid it will make her complicit._

She was complicit, as far as Dorian was concerned. She’d disapproved of his choices every bit as much as Halward. She might not have suspected how far her husband would go, but she knew what his goals were, and she supported them. Until she admitted that, until she actually asked for Dorian’s forgiveness, he couldn’t let her back in his heart. Which left them with… whatever _this_ was.

“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Aquinea said coldly, sweeping to her feet.

Dorian sighed. “I appreciate you bringing me this information, Mother.”

She nodded and turned to go, but then she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “The only thing your father and I ever agreed on was that we loved you. I can’t change the past, Dorian. But perhaps one day you’ll tell me what I can do to make up for it.”

She left Dorian on the gallery, sipping his drink, alone.

* * *

Morning found Dorian making his way through the cramped streets of Old Town, walking with his head bowed and doing his best to ignore the stench of ancient sewer drains and dried piss. It was slightly vulgar, this habit of getting about on foot, and not especially wise for a man of his obvious wealth. One of several bad habits he’d acquired down south, along with drinking ale and fraternizing with the great unwashed. But it gave him time to think, and Dorian was in need of a good think this morning. He was still mulling over what his mother had told him last night – which was why he didn’t notice he was being followed until it was too late.

A rustle sounded just behind him, and by the time he’d called a defensive spell to his lips, there was a blade against his throat. Hot breath swam over him, carrying the sour stench of ale. “Coin purse. Rings. Anything else you got.”

“Seriously? You’re robbing a mage? I can’t decide if that’s incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”

“Just incredibly desperate,” said the voice in his ear.

A refugee, most likely. The city was full of them these days, thanks to the war with the Qunari, and the Magisterium had done virtually nothing to help them. Was it any wonder the streets were riddled with crime? “Here’s the problem," Dorian said. "I could give you my coin purse, et cetera, but I rather suspect you’ll slit my throat anyway.”

“Might do. Or I might slit your throat first and then take the coin purse.”

This was, Dorian had to admit, eminently reasonable.

“Would it change matters if I mentioned I was a magister?”

“Might make me more inclined to slit your throat.”

Also reasonable.

Dorian cursed inwardly. He had no desire to kill this poor wretch. Perhaps he could immobilize him somehow?

He was still deciding how best to proceed when a bow thumped from somewhere behind him, and his attacker cried out, dropping the knife and staggering back. Dorian whirled in time to see the man fleeing into a nearby alley, an arrow protruding from his hand. At the end of the street stood a hooded figure, slender, unmistakably elven, and Dorian’s heart bucked. _He’s come back_ , he thought. _He came for me again._

But no – this wasn’t Seth. For starters, this figure was rather too curvy. Also, she was pointing an arrow at his chest.

Dorian raised his hands warily. “I’m confused. Did you not just save my life?”

“No,” the archer said. “I saved his.”

“Probably,” Dorian admitted.

“Are you Dorian Pavus?”

He frowned.

The bow creaked as the archer drew back threateningly. “ _Are you Dorian Pavus?_ ”

“I am. And who, may I ask…?”

The hood fell back to a reveal a young woman with dark hair. She was lovely, pale and fine-featured, with a full mouth and high cheekbones traced with the _vallaslin_ of Mythal. _Strange,_ Dorian thought. _A Dalish, here?_ In all the years he’d lived in Minrathous, Harmon was the only…

Then he met her gaze, and the breath left him in a rush. Those eyes… blue-green, magnificent… he would know them anywhere.

“Ellana?” he whispered.

“Dorian Pavus,” she said. “My brother needs your help.”


	7. Chapter 7

It said something about one’s life, Dorian reflected, when having a blade pressed against one’s throat wasn’t the most interesting development of the day. And here it was not even noon.

Ellana Lavellan. The sister Dorian had heard so much about but never actually met. He had _so many questions_. But he was standing in the middle of Old Town with a Dalish elf who obviously wasn’t a slave, and that was the sort of thing that invited other, rather more dangerous questions, some of them from quarters Dorian couldn’t control. They needed to get off the streets, now.

“Follow me,” he said, heading back the way he’d come at a brisk walk. “And for Andraste’s sake, pull that hood back up.”

Ellana Lavellan fell in behind him, moving with the same effortless silence as her brother. Dorian could feel her eyes on him as they walked. She’d have questions of her own, of course, and not for the first time, he found himself wondering what Seth had told her of him. It couldn’t have been easy, breaking the news of their involvement to his people. _Dearest Ellana, I have taken a lover. Isn’t that nice? He is very pretty and oh-so-clever. Slight inconvenience: he is human. Also, Tevinter. You know, those mischievous scamps who destroyed our entire way of life and have enslaved and tortured our people for millennia? We laugh about this constantly. I would bring him home to meet you, but of course our hunters would shoot him on sight. Hugs to everyone._

And then, years later, another letter, informing Ellana of their breakup. This one, Dorian reckoned, would have elicited a warmer response. _Dear brother, I was very sorry to hear your news. The entire clan grieves with you. By the way, if you hear rumours about celebratory drinking and dancing and an annual holiday called Dropped Dorian Day, those are vicious lies and you should pay them no mind._

“What would you have done?”

The question startled him, caught up as he’d been in his imagined correspondence. He glanced over his shoulder to find those familiar blue-green eyes studying him. “With the thief, you mean?”

“Would you have killed him?”

 _Let the examinations begin_ , he thought wryly. So be it. Dorian was well accustomed to being judged by those around him, and he prided himself on being ruthlessly honest. Anyone whose good opinion was worth cultivating would see through anything else. “Probably,” he said. “If he’d had an arrow pointed at me, or a sword, it would have been simple enough to incapacitate him before he harmed me. But with a blade at my throat… I have a limited repertoire of spells that can be cast without moving. I’m not sure I could have come up with a solution before he lost patience and tried to kill me.”

Did he earn any points with that answer? No way of knowing. Ellana’s expression was a careful mask, unreadable. Apparently, she had that in common with her brother too.

They didn’t speak again until they reached Dorian’s estate. He waved the gates aside, summoning Austus with a twist of an enchanted ring. A jewel on the ring flared red, and a moment later, it answered yellow, signalling that Austus had received the summons and was on his way.

Now that they were safe within his own walls, Dorian could unleash the tide of questions he’d been holding back – or so he thought, but when he turned around, he found his guest slumped against a pillar, her eyes squeezed shut. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just… a little lightheaded. It’s very hot here.”

“When was the last time you ate something?”

She shook her head.

“For that matter, when did you last sleep?” Now that he had time to look properly, Dorian could see how pale she was, how dark the circles under her eyes. What must she have gone through to get here?

Austus arrived, his weathered visage betraying no surprise at finding an unfamiliar Dalish elf in the courtyard. “How may I serve you, my lord?”

Ellana’s glance cut between them, and a look of disgust flitted across her face. Dorian could well imagine how it must look to a Dalish. She had no way of knowing the seneschal’s history or his position in this household; all she saw was an elf at the beck and call of a Tevinter magister. _Minus ten points to Dorian._ Well, there was nothing he could do about that right now. There were more important matters to attend to.

“Austus, please bring the lady some water. Then have the servants draw a bath and prepare something to eat. We’ll also need one of the guest rooms made up.”

Ellana held up a hand to stop him. “The water I will accept gladly, but there’s no time for the rest. My brother—”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s all very urgent and world-endangering. In other words, just another day for our dear Inquisitor.”

She scowled. “You're very glib.”

“So I’ve been told.” Gently, he added, “It’s taken you weeks to get here, Ellana. You can spare an hour or two to rest. Besides, I can’t very well have you fainting from hunger in the middle of explaining what in Andraste’s name you’re doing here.”

When she still hesitated, the seneschal said, “You are in good hands, my lady.”

“Thank you, Austus,” Dorian said.

“I meant me, my lord.”

“Naturally.”

Ellana seemed to relax a little after that, and she allowed herself to be led away. Dorian, meanwhile, headed for a shady spot near the serenity pool. He was in dire need of some serenity right now. Ellana Lavellan, in his home. If she’d come all this way, something truly awful must have happened to Seth. _He’s not dead,_ Dorian told himself firmly. _He can’t be, or Ellana wouldn’t need your help._

Unless… Did she know Dorian was a necromancer? Did she think he could…?

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” he muttered, dropping into a chair and rubbing his eyes. Maker’s breath, was it too early to start drinking?

Seth had spoken of his sister often. He’d practically raised her, their parents having died when Seth was thirteen years old, and Ellana only nine. Dorian had always assumed it was the experience of looking after her that moulded Seth into the leader he became: compassionate, fiercely protective, always mindful of his duty. It probably explained his reserve, too. Seth would have learned to put up a brave front for his little sister, to hide his fears and grief behind a mask of quiet confidence, just as he’d done as Inquisitor. Ellana, though, had learned no such restraint, at least to hear Seth tell it. He’d once described her as “a hurricane in a jar of bees.”

Hurricane or no, she’d clearly driven herself to exhaustion. To travel all the way from the Free Marches on her own, inexperienced as she was… And then, sneaking into the heart of the Imperium with nothing but her wits and a Dalish bow to protect her... How desperate must she be?

_Damn you, Seth. If you’ve gotten yourself…_

Dorian drew a long, steadying breath and waited for his guest to return.

* * *

Ellana looked much restored by the time she rejoined Dorian in the garden. She wore fresh clothing – Tarea’s probably – and her hair had been washed and braided. A little colour had returned to her lips, and her aquamarine eyes were just a hint brighter. _Almost as beautiful as her brother_ , Dorian caught himself thinking. Oh, what a delight this conversation was going to be. He felt Seth’s absence keenly enough without a physical reminder sitting right in front of him – bearing bad news, no less.

“You’re looking better,” he said as breezily as he could manage. “Less like a stray wandering the streets.”

“Are there many stray elves wandering the streets? I’d have thought they’d be netted and collared before long.”

Yes, indeed. A _delight._

“Your brother is the diplomat of the family, obviously,” Dorian said dryly.

“I’m sorry, was that impertinent? I wouldn’t want to offend you.”

Dorian sighed. “Let’s just get this out of the way, shall we? Yes, I’m a Tevinter magister. And yes, some of the horror stories you’ve heard are true. I’m not like those men. I don’t condone slavery or practice blood magic, and I’ve always found ritual sacrifice a bit of a bore. But you already knew all that, or you wouldn’t be here, yes?”

Ellana flushed slightly – another family trait, it seemed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to… I have a sharp tongue when I’m nervous.”

“That makes two of us. We should get on famously. And speaking of, perhaps we should be getting on with it?” His tone was slightly waspish, a side-effect of the anxiety worming its way through his insides. He’d thought his days of fearing for Inquisitor Lavellan were over, but of course that was naïve. As long as he loved Seth, he would fear for him. And he would love Seth until the end of his days.

Which was why the next words hit him like a body blow.

“My brother is missing.”

Dorian swallowed. “What do you mean, missing?”

“I haven’t heard from him in months. He was supposed to write to me as soon as he got back from Tevinter. He promised. But the letter never came, and after a while, I started to worry. I travelled to the Emerald Graves myself, but when I got there, the villa was empty, and when I spoke to the workers at the temple, they said they hadn’t seen him in weeks.”

“It’s not entirely unusual for your brother to travel,” Dorian pointed out.

“Maybe not, but it is unusual for him to break a promise. He knew I was waiting to hear from him. We had important matters to discuss. If something had come up, he could have at least written to say that. When he was still Inquisitor, he wrote to me from anywhere and everywhere. This silence… it’s not like him. The workers thought it strange as well. Especially since he’d left his wolf in their care.”

Dorian’s blood ran cold. “He left Maggie behind?”

“Out of everything I just said, _that’s_ what you’re interested in?”

“He never leaves Maggie behind. Not since she was a pup.” There was a reason most statues of Inquisitor Lavellan featured his loyal wolf at his side. After Corypheus was defeated, she’d become a member of the party in her own right – _smarter than Blackwall and saner than Sera_ , as Dorian was fond of saying. Every bandit outpost they’d traipsed through, every dank dungeon and crumbling temple, she’d been there. The only time he could recall Seth keeping her out of the fray was when they’d stumbled into a horde of darkspawn. He was afraid of her catching the Blight, so he sent her out of the cave. Maggie had sulked about it for days.

“She’s inconsolable,” Ellana said. “She howls day and night, and she won’t eat properly. The poor workers say it’s driving them mad.”

“This…” Dorian sprang to his feet and started to pace. “This is extremely troubling.”

Ellana nodded, gazing numbly into her lap and toying with the end of her braid. She looked so young at that moment, so vulnerable. Seth could do that, too: fierce one minute, delicate as spun glass the next. It was disorienting, and utterly disarming. Dorian wanted to comfort her, to put his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be all right. But he was a stranger to her, and besides – he strongly suspected that would be a lie.

If Seth had left Maggie behind, it must have been to protect her, but why? She’d been in danger before, countless times. What could he possibly be involved in that was so much worse? “The workers you spoke to – they had no idea where he went?”

She shook her head. “All they could tell me was that there was a dwarf with him, and a city elf, and they all seemed to be in a great hurry.”

“That will be Varric and Sera.” Dorian continued his pacing. “Varric did mention they were looking into something together, but that was months ago. I should write to Kirkwall immediately…”

“That was my first stop,” Ellana said. “I met with someone called Cavin. He said the Viscount was unavailable until further notice, and when I pressed him for more, he got angry and told me to leave. I think Varric is missing, too.”

“Still with Seth, then. Sera too, I’ll wager. That makes me feel a little better, actually.” They wouldn’t have been Dorian’s first choice to round out Seth’s party – not without someone a little meatier up front, and ideally a mage or two – but Varric had a good head on his shoulders, and Sera was… well, she could shoot things.

“After that,” Ellana said, “I tried to reach the Nightingale, but if she still has agents in Wycome, they weren’t answering. I looked for the Iron Bull, too, but they say he’s in Ferelden. And nobody knows where the Wardens got to.”

Dorian’s mouth twisted wryly. “And so you finally worked your way down to me. How charming.”

She met his gaze, and the solemn look in those blue-green eyes was so familiar that he actually shivered. “You’re the farthest away. And Seth said he thought someone was intercepting your correspondence, so I couldn’t just write.”

Perfectly reasonable. And then, of course, there was the fact that Dorian simply wasn’t a part of Seth’s life anymore.

 _I should be at your side,_ amatus. _What in Andraste’s name have you gotten yourself into?_

Dorian pasted on a smile. “At any rate, you’re here now, which means you must be terribly resourceful and clever, not to mention determined. All useful traits for what lies ahead.”

“So you’ll help me, then?”

Maker’s breath, did she even have to ask? Did she not understand what Seth meant to him? “Ellana, your brother and I might have gone our separate ways, but what we had… It wasn’t just a pleasant dalliance. Seth means more to me than anyone in the world. Of course I’ll do whatever I can.”

She held his gaze for a moment, as if gauging his sincerity. Then she nodded, and some of the tension went out of her shoulders.

 _Plus ten points to me._ By his calculations, that put him at an even zero. Plenty of room for improvement, but considering where they’d started, he’d take it. “We’ll leave tomorrow,” he said.

“But for where?” She slumped back in her chair with a sigh. “Where do we even begin?”

“At the villa. Your brother is adorably meticulous with his paperwork. He keeps files on everything. Correspondence, maps, notes… There will be clues in those papers, I know it.” Dorian put a tentative hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find him, Ellana. Whatever it takes.”

A shimmer sprang to her eyes. She glanced away, blinking furiously and nodding.

“Get some rest,” Dorian said. “We sail at dawn.”


	8. Chapter 8

“ _Amatus_ , we need to talk about your animal.”

Seth opens one eye and squints at the window. It’s still dark outside, the rugged outline of the Frostbacks barely visible in the gloom. The bailey below is silent; Skyhold has yet to stir. “It’s not even dawn,” he says, rolling over. “Go back to sleep.”

“I would love to, except there’s a hundred pounds of unwashed fur strewn across my feet, which in addition to being disgusting, is really rather _hot_.”

“Maggie. _Ma dur._ ” The words are muffled by Seth’s pillow, which gives the wolf plausible deniability. She’s pretending to be asleep, but she doesn’t fool Dorian for a moment.

“You have five seconds to get down, you cheeky thing, or I’ll set your tail on fire.” To show he means it, Dorian raises his index finger and lights it like a candle.

Maggie’s head snaps up, and she slinks off the bed with a whine.

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” the elf mumbles, his face still buried in the pillow.

“Apparently a bit of drama is what’s required to be taken seriously around here. Honestly, Inquisitor, I don’t know what you let this beast get away with during our time apart, but she’s become quite entitled. I have a strict _no animals in the bed_ policy, which I feel sure we’ve discussed on more than one occasion.”

“You’re the one who got me a puppy.”

Actually, what he did was save a wolf pup from being stabbed by a well-meaning but overly stabby Seeker, but Dorian sees no point in quibbling. “I got you a puppy because you were so mopey and depressed that I felt certain my sex life would never recover without drastic intervention. Now, the puppy is interfering with my sex life.”

Seth snorts into his pillow. “She’s not a puppy anymore, and we rarely have sex at this hour.”

“You misunderstand. She’s interfering with my sleep and therefore my beauty. This, in turn, will affect my sex life, as I can no longer guarantee I will be the most attractive person in the room at any given time.”

The elf snorts again, laughingly this time. “How are you this full of shit this early in the morning?”

“You’re right, I’m being absurd. I could walk face-first into a hatchet and still be the most attractive man at Skyhold. Present company excluded, of course. Although Cullen is quite acceptable. Perhaps I ought to tell him so, just to see the reaction. I daresay he might spontaneously combust.”

Seth rolls over and twines his limbs sleepily around Dorian. “Are you going to shut up, or…?”

“I could, but since we’re both awake…” Dorian slides a hand down the elf’s body, smooth and naked under the bedclothes.

Seth growls, an adorable mixture of irritated, groggy, and aroused. “I’m tired.”

“You don’t _feel_ tired,” Dorian purrs, taking the situation fully in hand. “In fact, you’re waking up quite nicely.”

One blue-green eye opens, and Dorian watches in satisfaction as a growing heat burns away the last wisps of sleep. He pushes the elf onto his back, and things are just starting to get interesting when he feels another pair of eyes on him. Maggie is sitting right beside the bed, watching intently.

Dorian hesitates.

“Something wrong?” A hint of impatience in the elf’s voice. Now that he’s been teased awake, he clearly expects Dorian to follow through. Which he would happily do, but…

“She’s staring at me.”

Seth glances over at her. “So?”

“It’s unnerving.”

“For pity’s sake, Dorian, she’s watched us do this a hundred times.”

“But there’s a _look_ in her eye. I think she thinks I’m doing something to you.”

He scowls. “If only.”

“I’m sorry, it’s no good.” Dorian rolls off him. “I can’t do this with her watching.”

He pads across the room, enjoying the fresh summer air on his bare skin – almost as much as he’s enjoying the feeling of being watched by a hungry pair of eyes, and he doesn’t mean the wolf. He isn’t trying to be a tease, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take advantage of it.

“Now the puppy is interfering with _my_ sex life,” Seth growls.

“Oh, now, don’t sulk. A little pent-up frustration is no bad thing, as you well know.” Some of their most memorable encounters have resulted from periods of forced abstinence. Like the make-up sex after their brief but torturous breakup. They practically melted the walls that day – literally, at one point, when Dorian briefly lost control of his magical faculties. Poor Maggie had to scurry out onto the balcony to avoid being singed.

She’s swirling around his legs now, hoping for a walk even though it’s barely dawn. Dorian is not in the habit of being vertical at this time of day, let alone doing something moderately active, but perhaps if he takes her out she’ll feel sufficiently stimulated to let her master get a little stimulation of his own. “What do you say, _hmm_? If I take you outside, will you let us get off in peace?”

“Are you bargaining with my wolf?”

“You needn’t concern yourself, Inquisitor. Maggie and I have an understanding. Don’t we, my darling?”

The wolf barks and wags her tail. She nudges Dorian’s leg impatiently, and nudges and nudges…

* * *

The last nudge was hard enough to startle Dorian awake.

“Creators, you’re a deep sleeper. I thought you _died_.” Ellana Lavellan frowned at him from the foot of the wagon. “It’s dawn. Your turn to drive.”

Dorian rubbed his eyes and sat up, scanning his surroundings. The first fingers of sunlight filtered through the trees, moving eerily in the morning mist. The Emerald Graves were still humid at this time of year, and cool; Dorian wrapped the blanket he’d been sleeping in around his shoulders. He recognized the fork in the road where Ellana had pulled over. “We’re nearly there,” he said. “Din’an Hanin is just past those rocks.”

They’d pushed themselves as hard as they dared since making landfall, sleeping in shifts and taking turns driving the wagon night and day. Dorian hadn’t felt this ragged in years, and he would happily trade the Pavus birthright for a bath. Fortunately, the villa wasn’t far beyond the temple. A bit of rest, a bath, and – if the Maker was good – some answers lay just ahead.

The path to Elgar’nan’s Bastion was well worn with wagon ruts, and as they approached, a riot of colours peeked through the arches. Half a dozen aravels stood scattered throughout the ruins, and already the smoke of breakfast fires curled into the air. Dorian couldn’t see the sentries hiding in the bush, but he knew they were there, levelling their arrows at his chest. Only the presence of a Dalish elf on the seat beside him forestalled a more aggressive introduction.

“ _Andaran atish’an._ ” One of the workers approached as Dorian stopped the wagon. “You return, Ellana.”

“With help,” she said, hopping down. “This is Dorian Pavus, the mage who…” She hesitated, apparently unsure how to finish that sentence.

Dorian was half inclined to let her flounder, curious where she’d go with it. _The mage who was once betrothed to my brother._ Or perhaps, _the mage who broke my brother’s heart._ Or better still, _the mage who was stupid enough to let my brother get away, and will spend the rest of his sad, lonely life regretting it._ “Formerly of the Inquisition,” he said, for both their sakes. “We shan’t trouble you long. We’re here to collect the wolf. Unless you have new information about the Inquisitor?”

The elf shook his head. “Not for weeks, alas. But you are welcome indeed to take the wolf. She has not been happy here.”

 _Not happy in a dark cave ringing with hammer blows all day, wondering why she’s been abandoned by her alpha with a strange pack? How odd._ “Where will I find her?”

“Hard to say. She’s got all sorts of hiding places. Be warned, shem – she’s not very social, especially with strangers.”

“Thank you for concern,” Dorian said, heading for the doorway of the temple.

The courtyard looked more or less the way he remembered it, the rubble having been cleared shortly before his last visit. But what met him in the Knight’s Hall took his breath away. The ceiling had been repaired, the flying buttresses repainted in vibrant shades of saffron and gold. Centuries of mildew and filth had been scrubbed from the walls, revealing colourful murals Dorian had never realized were there. What had once been barren archways of stone were now elaborate mosaics glittering with iridescent tiles, flanked with shining statues of halla and howling wolves.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Ellana came to stand beside him, craning her neck to scan the ceiling. “Seth described all this in his letters, but seeing it…”

“It’s magnificent,” Dorian murmured. “Exactly how he imagined it.” They’d spent many an evening discussing it, Seth sketching out plans in his journal while Dorian teased him and refilled his wine glass and occasionally said something helpful.

“It will be a place of pilgrimage,” Ellana said. “The People owe him a great debt.”

Pride flared in Dorian’s breast – followed by a bitter chaser of regret. He had no right to feel pride in Seth’s accomplishments anymore, even if House Pavus had made a generous donation to the cause.

He cleared his throat. “This place is huge, and much as I’d like to see the rest of it, there’s no time.”

“Hey.” A worker appeared on the stairs, looking angry. “Who are you?”

“We have permission to be here,” Ellana said. “We’re looking for the Inquisitor’s wolf.”

“The fellow outside said she might be in here,” Dorian added.

The worker still looked suspicious. “What fellow?”

“I didn’t catch his name. Brown hair, _vallaslin_ of Dirthamen?”

“Ernan,” he said, relaxing. Tilting his head curiously, he added, “It’s rare for a shem to know the word _vallaslin_ , let alone be able to identify them.”

 _Yes, well, I did almost marry a Dalish._ Not a conversation he felt like starting. “Do you know where we might find the wolf?”

“She’s somewhere in here. Haven’t seen her for a couple of days, though. She mostly just skulks around in the shadows.”

Dorian whistled loudly, the sound echoing under the high ceiling.

The worker gave him a wry look. “Believe me, if it was that easy, we would’ve—”

A mournful sound somewhere between a howl and a bark issued from the bowels of the temple, and a few seconds later, claws could be heard scrabbling up a set of stairs. Maggie erupted into the hall and nearly tackled Dorian, whining and jumping up and wagging her tail so vigorously that half her body went along with it.

Dorian crouched low, ruffling her fur and murmuring sweet nothings in Elven, just as her master would have done, and for once, he even let her lick his face. He was filthy anyway. “Were you lonely, my little magpie?” he murmured. “We’ll have a very stern word with our master Lavellan when we see him, you and I.”

“You’re… very good with animals, shem,” the worker said, bemused by this display. He obviously hadn’t put it together yet, and Dorian certainly wasn’t inclined to enlighten him.

“I’m _really_ not,” he said dryly. “But this one is special, aren’t you?” Having greeted Dorian quite thoroughly, Maggie snuffled at Ellana next, with a purposefulness that suggested she might recognize something of her scent. “I think she knows you as family,” Dorian said.

“Maybe,” Ellana said, regarding Maggie with a thoughtful expression. “But you… You are still her pack, it seems.”

Such innocent words, but they hit where it hurt. Dorian glanced away, giving himself a moment. “We should go,” he said roughly. “It’s about an hour to the villa from here, and it’s past time we got some answers.” He started for the temple entrance. “Come along, Maggie,” he called over his shoulder, and the wolf sprang to his side. “Time to go home.”

* * *

Wandering through the villa he’d shared with the love of his life was every bit as delightful as Dorian had anticipated. If Ellana hadn’t been there, he might have drunk himself into a stupor and fallen asleep on the floor in a puddle of tears and wolf slobber. Happily, the presence of another person forced him to retain at least some scrap of dignity, and he set about his task with the grim focus of a man trying to avoid anything like _feelings_.

“I went through this place from top to bottom,” Ellana said. “Including the study. I found all sorts of papers relating to the restoration, and even a few letters from Varric, but nothing about any secret mission.”

“Ah, but you have to know how to crack the code,” Dorian said, scanning the shelves of Seth’s library. He’d reorganized it, of course. Dorian was a firm believer in sorting by subject matter, but Seth preferred alphabetical first, then chronological. They were forever skirmishing over it. A relationship really only had room for one rebel archivist, Dorian reckoned. Two were bound to clash. _There, you see? You were doomed from the start. If it wasn’t the whole Dalish-Tevinter thing, it would have been the bloody books._

“The code?” Ellana echoed, bringing him back to the here and now.

“The events surrounding the Exalted Council made it clear just how many spies had infiltrated the ranks of the Inquisition,” Dorian explained, selecting a book from the Ts. “We took a good deal more care with our correspondence after that. From then on, anything of importance was concealed with a simple substitution cypher. Easy to decrypt if you have the key, virtually impossible if you don’t.”

“None of the letters I read appeared to be encrypted.”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it. To the unsuspecting eye, they read like innocent drivel. Now, where did you say you put those letters?”

“Here,” Ellana said, gesturing at Seth’s desk.

He began with Varric’s letters. Most were no more than they appeared to be: periodic missives regaling an old friend with tales of his adventures as Viscount of Kirkwall. Only one was actually encrypted, and it was so brief that Dorian despaired of finding anything useful. But it was best to be thorough, so he cracked open his book and set to work.

“ _Swords and Shields?_ ” Ellana read over his shoulder.

Dorian hummed in assent, his quill scratching. “We needed something that would appear on just about any bookshelf. It was this or the Chant of Light.”

“What about _Hard in Hightown_?”

“Too obvious. Though in truth, none of this would thwart a determined spy.” Sourly, he added, “Especially if they simply abscond with your correspondence altogether.” He flipped a page, made a note, flipped another. A few minutes later, he’d translated the entire letter.

_Dear Frosty. Got your note. Sounds like something worth looking into. Roll out the red carpet, I’m coming to visit. V._

“That’s no help,” said Ellana, helpfully.

Dorian moved on. There was a letter from Sera, too. Encrypted – although frankly, he wasn’t sure why she bothered; her handwriting was so atrocious that it was practically a code all by itself.

_Jenny says somebody’s got it bad for templars. Left word at every tavern from here to Starkhaven, promising good coin and free lyrium._

Dorian sat up a little straighter at that. The words were an eerie echo of Bull’s: _Somebody’s hiring a shitload of ex-templars. That’s fishy._ Apparently, it was even fishier than he knew – and very much related to the attack in Minrathous. _It’s all tied together_ , Dorian thought. But how?

“This last one’s from Divine Victoria,” Ellana said, pushing another sheet across the desk. She shook her head wonderingly. “My brother and his big shiny boots.”

“Yes, he’s terribly illustrious, isn’t he?” Dorian took the letter. This one, of course, was very much encrypted, and turned out to be every bit as terse as one might expect of this particular correspondent.

_Inquisitor. An urgent matter has been brought to my attention that requires your assistance. Please come to Val Royeaux at your earliest convenience. D.V. &c._

The letter was dated two weeks before Varric’s.

Dorian sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed in thought. “So. Cassandra summons the Inquisitor on an urgent matter, and almost immediately thereafter, he writes to Varric for help. That seals it, I suppose.”

“Seals what?” Ellana looked lost.

“I hope you have some shiny boots, my dear. Because we’re headed for Val Royeaux.”


	9. Chapter 9

Word arrived at the inn that Divine Victoria would receive them in two hours, which left Dorian and Ellana plenty of time to find something decent to eat. Or so Dorian thought, but like everything else in this ridiculous city, even getting a spot of lunch proved to be complicated.

“I’m terribly sorry, _monsieur_ ,” said the _ma_ _î_ _tre d’h_ _ô_ _tel_ with an apologetic little bow. “But we do not serve”—he cleared his throat delicately—“ _her kind_ … in this establishment.”

“I assume you mean the wolf?” Dorian said.

The man glanced at Maggie with an anemic little laugh. “Very droll, _monsieur._ Regrettably not. I refer to your… elven companion.” He spread his hands, as if to say _it’s none of my doing._ But Dorian could see behind the mask – literally and figuratively – and it was perfectly obvious how much pleasure this little worm took in wielding his modicum of power. Heads were turning all over the restaurant, and he knew it. _Look at me_ , his proud posture said. _Your valiant defender, safeguarding your dining experience against the intrusion of filthy heathen elves._

So much for Inquisitor Lavellan and the Marquise of the Dales changing minds.

“Just as well,” Ellana said coldly. “I have no interest in this shem food. Can we please just find a fruit and vegetable market?”

There were a lot of responses Dorian could have gone with in this situation. _Do you know who I am?_ Or better yet, _Do you know who this is?_ After all, Ellana’s surname carried even more weight than his own. But this was Orlais, after all, so he opted for a subtler, more vindictive approach. “Certainly, Ellana. Let’s be on our way. But first…” He turned back to the _ma_ _î_ _tre d’h_ _ô_ _tel._ “Is Louis in the kitchen today?”

Dorian sensed the surprise behind the mask. “He is,” the man said warily.

“I wonder if you might give him a message for me. Thank him for the jar of terrine he sent me last month. So difficult to get a decent pâté in the Imperium.” Dorian turned to go.

“But, _monsieur…_ er, pardon me, I mean _my lord…_ ” The man had worked that much out, at least, and he was starting to sweat. “Who shall I say the message is from?”

“Oh, Louis will know.” Dorian’s smile was just a little bit nasty. “Shall we, Ellana?” He gestured toward the square, and they left the _ma_ _î_ _tre d’h_ _ô_ _tel_ fidgeting nervously behind them.

“What was that?” she murmured as they walked away. “Will this Louis really know who the message is from?”

“Yes indeed. I expect he’ll be running out of the kitchen in a moment or two, hoping to catch us. A shameless status-seeker, Louis, and my name still means something here. He’ll be furious that his man turned us away.”

Ellana glanced back at the restaurant with a frown. “What will he do?”

“Louis?” Dorian shrugged. “Fire the man, presumably.”

“Then how will he feed his family?”

“Sorry?”

“If he loses his job, how will he put food on the table? Most humans have no idea how to take care of themselves without coin, isn’t that so?”

The disapproval in those blue-green eyes unsettled him. It was as if Seth were there, scolding Dorian through the medium of his sister. “Why concern yourself with filth like that?” he asked, a little defensively. “He’s a bigot and an elitist. Maybe he’ll think twice before sneering at _your kind_ again.”

“Why, because the dirty knife-ear in question just happened to know someone important? It seems to me the only message you sent was that you outrank him. How is that going to make him less elitist?”

“So you would have preferred that I say nothing?”

“If your friend Louis fires him, it won’t be because he turned away an elf. It will be because he turned away the _wrong_ elf. I don’t see how that accomplishes anything but to make you feel better.”

He scowled. “You’re perfectly right. Changing minds requires changing the whole power structure, which is precisely what I’m trying to do back home. Here, I’ll settle for making an example of idiots.”

“Fine. I just hope you’re not making an example of his children, too.”

Dorian groaned and rubbed his eyes. _Bloody Lavellans._ “What would you have us do, then? Do you really want to go back there?”

Before she could answer, the _ma_ _î_ _tre d’h_ _ô_ _tel_ came jogging down the street, out of breath and sweating beneath his mask. “Magister Pavus, please forgive me.” He folded his hands and bowed low. “I had no idea. And this of course must be…?”

“No one at all,” Ellana said firmly.

Seth would have been so proud.

“My humblest apologies, _mademoiselle_. I was unconscionably rude. Please, if I may…?” He gestured toward the restaurant, and reluctantly, Ellana followed.

They were escorted to the best table on the verandah and served all manner of delights. Or at least, Dorian found them delightful, especially after weeks on the road. Ellana, however, looked increasingly lost as one unrecognizable dish after another was placed in front of her, each of them carefully tweezed into individual _objets d’art_. It was like going back in time, sitting at this very table as he watched Seth pick bemusedly at _p_ _âté en croû_ _te_.

_Why is the meat ground into paste? How do you even know what kind of meat it is?_

And cheese. Maker, how his beloved hated cheese. _Why am I eating mould? It’s revolting._

“Why are you staring at me?” Ellana didn’t look up, too busy slipping Maggie chunks of _comt_ _é_ under the table. “Should I not be doing this?”

“Definitely not, but that’s not what I was thinking.” He couldn’t help smiling. “You remind me of him, that’s all. You get the same adorable little flare of your nostrils when you look at cheese.”

A smile touched her lips, too – the first he’d seen in days. “Did he ever get used to this sort of food?”

“Never,” Dorian laughed. “Sometimes, after an official banquet, he’d be so sick… For days afterward, he only wanted bread and broth.”

She tilted her head, eyes bright with curiosity. This was a side of her brother she never heard about, presumably. “Were there other things like that? That he never got used to?”

“A great many, some of them very basic. Staying in one place, sleeping under a roof. Eating with a knife and fork. Bathing in a tub.”

Her eyebrows flew up in recognition. “Yes! It just gets dirty and stays that way! How are you supposed to get clean when you’re sitting in your own filth?”

“ _Give me a river any day_ , he used to say. It just goes to show you: a wild creature is wild forever, no matter how long it lives in captivity. Even Minrathous wasn’t enough to civilize him. He was a savage to the end.”

The blood drained from Ellana’s face, and she set her fork down with a trembling hand.

Horror washed over Dorian as he realized what he’d just said. “Ellana, I didn’t mean… To the end of our relationship, is all I meant. Not…”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But we were both speaking of him in the past tense, and I didn’t even notice.”

They had done so well until now, both of them. Going through the motions, valiantly pretending they weren’t living every day in dread of what might have happened to Seth. Dragging that burden like a pair of draught horses with their blinders on, refusing to acknowledge the fearful possibilities lurking in the shadows. They’d managed it because they barely spoke, too busy driving in shifts, one asleep while the other was awake. But now, face-to-face over a meal, having something resembling a normal conversation, they’d let their guards down, and the truth spilled out: they were both terrified.

“He’s alive,” Dorian said fiercely, and he wasn’t sure which of them he was trying harder to convince. “He’s alive and we’re going to find him.”

Ellana nodded, her gaze on her plate.

Dorian glanced at the water clock on the wall. “We’d better go. It’s nearly time for our audience with the Divine.”

Which was just as well, really, because he’d quite lost his appetite.

* * *

“This… isn’t what I expected,” Ellana admitted, glancing around the private office to which they’d been escorted.

“Just wait until Divine Victoria gets here. I’ll wager she isn’t quite what you expected, either.”

“I’m getting that impression.” Her gaze lingered on the sword and shield mounted on the wall – humble, utilitarian, and entirely too scarred to pass for ornamental. Nor was that the only unusual decorating choice. There were no statues of Andraste here, no tapestries or religious relics. Instead, an old Inquisition banner hung beside the door. Some of the literature on the bookshelves did not _quite_ belong in a Chantry, though at least the Divine had the good sense to keep her beloved copies of _Swords and Shields_ tucked somewhere out of sight. There were keepsakes on the bookshelves, too: a dragon scale, an old Dwarven dagger, a certain Dalish promise necklace that Dorian hoped Ellana wouldn’t ask him about. “I thought she’d meet us in a throne room full of Chantry sisters.”

“She hates that room,” replied a familiar voice – one Dorian had not expected to hear. Leliana appeared from a side door, her gaze giving Ellana a quick once-over before settling on Dorian. Her eyes were as cold as ever, her skin as perfectly radiant. If it had been anyone else, Dorian would have inquired about her beauty regimen, but Leliana would probably consider that a secret worth killing over. “Magister Pavus,” she said, with all the warmth of a Hakkonite arrow up the arse. She still hadn’t forgiven Dorian for breaking the Inquisitor’s heart on the eve of the final battle against Corypheus. That Seth had returned the favour years later apparently didn’t weigh in her calculations.

“Leliana,” he replied with equal enthusiasm. “Fancy meeting you here. Stopped by for a bit of quiet reflection, did you? Or perhaps you were looking to unburden yourself of your sins?”

“My sins are between me and the Maker, Dorian. They do not burden me. I have no regrets – unlike some in this room.”

An exasperated sound came from the doorway. “Can I not leave the two of you alone for five seconds without you squabbling?” Cassandra wasn’t even through the door and already she was wriggling out of her ridiculous Chantry vestments like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. Only when she’d successfully extracted herself and stood in her simple cotton tunic and leggings did she realize there was a stranger in the room. “Oh!” she said, blushing adorably. “I didn’t realize…” She scowled at Dorian. “Why didn’t you tell me there was someone else in the room?”

“And deprive her of the sight of Divine Victoria stripping down to her jammies? This is a tale she can tell her grandchildren.”

“These are not…” she began in an outraged tone, before her expression smoothed. “Ah. You are teasing me. You have not changed, I see.”

“And you are, as ever, a vision and a delight.” Dorian gave a courtly bow.

Poor Ellana didn’t know what to make of any of this. She avoided everyone’s eye, glancing about the room as if searching for a means of escape. Leliana, meanwhile, looked her over with a tilt of her head. “I heard you were travelling with a Dalish, but I didn’t realize who it was.”

“Who…?” Cassandra began.

“Come, Cassandra,” Leliana laughed. “Look at her eyes. You cannot mistake it.”

She did, and her dark eyebrows climbed. “Ellana Lavellan?”

The elf blushed to the tips of her ears. “It is an honour to meet you… Holy One?”

“Close enough,” Dorian said airily.

“So it is true,” Cassandra said, glancing at Leliana. “The Inquisitor must be in danger, if his sister has left her clan.”

Fear jousted with hope in Dorian’s breast. “What do you know of him, Leliana? Have you had any news?”

“Very little, I fear. My people lost track of him several weeks ago.”

He scowled. “Lost track? Like a glove you dropped on the street?” He started to pace; Cassandra observed without comment, accustomed to such displays of pique. “Were you watching him or not?”

“Not expressly. But a man as prominent as Inquisitor Lavellan is noticed wherever he goes. His arrival at an inn or a marketplace causes a stir. If someone passes him on the road, they will speak of it at the nearest tavern. It was the sudden silence that caught my attention. For the first time in years, there were no tales in the tavern. No sightings in the marketplace, or at the docks. It was as if he vanished into thin air. I came to Cassandra with my concerns a few days ago. When my people spotted you heading for Val Royeaux, I decided to wait for you, to see if you might know something we do not.” Sourly, she added, “It does not sound as though you do.”

“He stopped sending letters,” Ellana put in. “My brother, I mean. I travelled to the Emerald Graves to look for him, but all I found was Maggie.”

“Maggie?” Cassandra gave Dorian a troubled look. “He left her behind?”

“I’m afraid so. She’s outside right now, if you’d like to say hello.”

“And how do you come into it, Dorian?” Leliana asked, focusing on the task at hand.

“I travelled to Minrathous to seek his help,” Ellana said. “Our hunters could find no trace in the Emerald Graves. Then I searched for you, Nightingale, but I didn’t know how to reach you. And you…” She glanced awkwardly at Cassandra. “Well, you’re the _Divine._ ”

“Yes, yes, we’ve already established that I was the last choice,” Dorian said tartly. “More importantly, we’ve been back to the villa. We went through Seth’s letters, and we know he was summoned here a few months ago. Shortly before he came to Minrathous, in fact.”

“Yes.” Cassandra sat behind her desk and gestured for the rest of them to take a seat. “Dorian, do you remember our dealings with the Order of Fiery Promise?”

He made an impatient gesture. “For a while there, you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting fanatics. Refresh my memory?”

“An ancient cult that seeks the end of the world. It was the Promisers who captured the Seekers of Truth and conducted horrible experiments on them.”

“With red lyrium,” Dorian said, the memory returning. “Yes, I recall now. Lord Seeker Lucius joined them. He was raving about burning down the world so it could be reborn, or some such.”

Cassandra nodded. “Not all the Seekers were accounted for at Caer Oswin. Aerion Malkar, one of Lucius’s staunchest proteges, was among the missing. I searched for him myself after the Exalted Council, but found no trace.”

“Until he turned up,” Dorian said. “And you sent Seth after him, yes?”

Cassandra sighed and inclined in her head once.

“Malkar was spotted in the Emerald Graves several months ago,” Leliana said. “In the company of Red Templars.”

Dorian _tsk_ ed. “How very passé. Can’t they find some new evil club to join?”

“The Inquisitor investigated, and reported finding several abandoned Red Templar camps in the area. It looked as if they had re-established a strong foothold. He also found evidence of Carta involvement.”

“Carta?” Dorian echoed, puzzled. “What would the Promisers need with lyrium smugglers? Most of the red lyrium still kicking around is on the surface, not underground.”

“A good question,” Leliana said. “The Inquisitor reached out to his underworld contacts – namely Varric and Sera – to find out more. That’s all we know.”

Dorian drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. “Not quite. The Red Jennys reported back that someone has been hiring ex-templar mercenaries all over the south. The Iron Bull found something similar going on in Minrathous. Seth must have learned that and more, because someone – presumably Malkar and these Promisers – lured him to Minrathous to kill him.”

Cassandra frowned. “What were the Promisers doing in Minrathous?”

“Digging up Venatori secrets. They’ve been ransacking the estates of Venatori researchers. At a guess, I’d say they’re hoping to learn more about how to manipulate red lyrium.”

“We must look into this further,” Leliana said. “Aerion Malkar is every bit as insane as his former mentor. If the Promisers found what they were looking for in Minrathous, we are all in danger.”

“Not to mention the Inquisitor, of course,” Dorian said coolly.

“We will find him.” Cassandra rose from her desk, that familiar look of steely determination settling over her features.

“We?” Dorian echoed. “Aren’t you supposed to be…” He waved vaguely at their surroundings. “Divining?”

Cassandra addressed her response to Ellana. “Your brother is a great man and a dear friend. Whatever has become of him, it is my doing. I will not leave his fate to the two of you alone.”

“Thank you,” Ellana whispered, a shimmer of tears in her eyes.

“I will remain here,” Leliana said. “We need a headquarters for this operation, and it might as well be the cathedral. I will get in touch with my contacts in Orzammar to see what more I can learn about the Carta connection. And I will send word to the Iron Bull as well. From the sounds of things, we need all the help we can get.”

Cassandra nodded. “In the meantime, we travel to Ferelden. If someone is scouring the south for ex-templars, Cullen will know about it. Perhaps he has information that can lead us to the Inquisitor.”

Thus decided, they dispersed to make their separate arrangements before travelling.

“That was… a lot to take in,” Ellana said as she and Dorian quit the Grand Cathedral. “Red Templars. Venatori. Order of Fiery Promise. Something about destroying the world. Is it always like this?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, and he whistled for Maggie.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit delayed, but I was camping out in the wilderness with no signal. As Seth would say, sometimes, you just need to ~breathe~.

The only thing more delightful than sailing across the Waking Sea, Dorian decided, was sailing along it. He’d thought himself thoroughly acquainted with the charms of this particular body of water — a turbid, heaving soup of Fereldan filth and Marcher murk flanked by two of the most unattractive stretches of coastline in Thedas — but _no_. He’d never had the pleasure of sailing it in the autumn, which was apparently when its finer qualities bobbed to the surface like so many turds. A summer’s worth of heavy traffic left the waterways even more choked with rubbish than usual, and the rapidly dropping temperature gave the wind that extra bite. Oh, and the _waves_. How was it possible that a waterway this sheltered came to heave so violently? Hard to say, but it meant Dorian spent a considerable amount of time doing some violent heaving of his own. He’d barely left his cabin for the first forty-eight hours, subsisting entirely on broth and ginger tea. And there was still the Storm Coast to look forward to. _Marvellous._

At least he wasn’t alone in his misery. Cassandra spent her days rooted to the prow, glowering out at the sea like the figurehead on a warship – the kind designed to make the enemy shit themselves in terror. Maggie was generally to be found huddled at the stern, chin to the deck, looking so pathetic that one of the crew draped an oilskin over her to shield her from the rain. Worst of all, though, was Ellana. She’d barely said two words since they left Val Royeaux, and when Dorian blundered his way to the galley in search of solid food, he found her curled up in a corner with her knees drawn to her chest, looking like a lost child hiding from the wolves.

She turned away hurriedly, but not before Dorian caught a glimpse of her face, and the sight of tears in those familiar blue-green eyes was like a knife in his heart. “Are you all right?” he asked, perching on the bench beside her.

“I’m fine,” she said, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Dorian hesitated. Should he leave her alone? Try to comfort her? What would Seth want him to do? “Ellana, we haven’t known each other long, but I hope you feel you can trust me. If you want to talk, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” she said, and that was all.

 _Perhaps a more indirect approach._ Rising, Dorian started to root through the cabinets. “Your brother used to do this,” he said conversationally, inspecting a crock of… something. “He rarely confided in anyone, at least at first. He’s naturally quiet, of course, but it wasn’t just that. He was… _Maker’s mercy, what is_ _this_?” He’d uncorked the jar, and the contents were so appalling that he lost track of what he was saying.

Ellana craned her neck, like a turtle emerging cautiously from its shell. “I think they’re prunes,” she said.

“Do I even want to know what that means?”

“You don’t have prunes in Tevinter? They’re just dried plums.”

“Why are they in liquid?”

“To preserve them.”

“What, like a specimen jar? Like a mad scientist collecting dwarf testicles for future study? _Best keep them fresh. Never know when they might come in handy._ ”

Ellana snorted and covered her mouth.

“I greatly fear what I’ll discover in the rest of these cupboards,” he went on, shuffling a few crocks around. “What was I saying? Ah, yes, the Herald of Andraste. Seth convinced himself it would be terribly inappropriate for a holy saviour to show anything like vulnerability, so he kept everything bottled up inside. Until of course he couldn’t, because it turns out that saving the world is rather _trying_ , and you can only hold back the waters for so long before the dam bursts. Which it did, rather spectacularly, on more than one occasion. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you. It left him literally gasping for air, out on that balcony of his trying not to imagine the walls closing in on him. My advice? Don’t let it get that far.”

Dorian paused, pretending to scrutinize a block of what appeared to be some sort of grain biscuit while he waited to see if his words were having any effect.

Ellana still avoided his eye, but she sighed, and he took that as an opening.

“I’m afraid for him too,” Dorian said gently. “There’s no shame in it.”

“It’s not that. I mean, it is, but…” She swiped her cheeks again. “This is my first time being away from my clan. I thought I was doing all right. Coping, at least. But being here, so close to the Free Marches… We’re only a few days’ ride away from where my people are camped, and for some reason that makes it hurt so much more.”

“I understand,” Dorian said, and he did. He’d missed Tevinter terribly back in those early days with the Inquisition, when everyone and everything around him felt foreign and vaguely hostile. How much worse would it be for a Dalish?

“Seth talked about this in his letters, all those years ago. How terrifying it was to be alone in the world. How it broke his heart. But I never really understood until now. It’s like…”

“Like being a wolf without a pack,” Dorian murmured, recalling Seth’s words on that awful morning in Minrathous.

Ellana’s eyes met his, and the look wasn’t entirely friendly. “My brother said that, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“As I thought. It doesn’t sound like the sort of metaphor a human would use. I’m not even sure your kind can truly comprehend it.”

“Why not? Humans have communities too.”

“Not in the way we Dalish understand the term. You have your villages and cities, but your society has no intimacy. You’re all crammed in together, and yet you’re still alone, passing each other on the streets without making eye contact. It’s different for us. The Dalish do everything together. We eat and hunt and raise our children together. We share our grief and our joy and our triumphs. We’re a family. A pack. Being torn away from that is…” She shuddered, hugging her knees more tightly to her chest. “The loneliness aches more than any grief I’ve ever known. My heart is broken every day, just as my brother said. How did he do it?”

“He found a new pack.”

Ellana glanced at him again, and this time there was no mistaking it: She was angry.

“Have I done something to offend?” Dorian asked coolly.

“No. I just…” She shook her head. “I’m grateful you’re here, Dorian, and I can see that you’re trying. Maybe that should be enough. What happened between you and Seth is not my business, but… I just don’t know if I can forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” Dorian scowled, heat rising to his face. “For what, pray? You do realize _he_ is the one who left _me_?”

The look she gave him was somewhere between incredulous and exasperated. “Is that really how you see it?” She shook her head again. “You speak as though you know my people. You learned our language, and you know our _vallaslin_. I can see how proud you are, thinking you’ve embraced his Dalishness. But if you truly knew him, knew _us_ , then you would understand what you did to him. How cruel it was.”

Anger flared in Dorian’s breast. “Cruel? To ask him to wait for me? After years of fighting faithfully at his side? I put my life on hold for him, Ellana. For two years I delayed going home, just so that we could be together. Was it too much to ask that he might do the same for me for a time?” He could hear the fury in his voice, the rawness. He could see the reflection of his anger in those blue-green eyes, Seth's eyes, but somehow, that only made it worse. “Should I have spent my entire life in his shadow, following _his_ dreams, _his_ crusades? The hero’s loyal sidekick unto the end of my days?”

How much of this wrath was for Ellana, and how much for Seth? In that moment, Dorian couldn’t have said. All he knew was that he was vibrating with it, the Veil shimmering around him as a half-healed wound ripped open all over again.

“Dorian.” Ellana sighed. “I don’t claim to have the answers. I can see that you loved my brother. And if he were human, maybe what you asked of him would not have been too much. But you demanded the one thing no Dalish could ever give. You asked him to be _alone_.”

 _You’re the one who doesn’t understand_ , Dorian wanted to say. _You weren’t there._ But the words wouldn’t come. Instead he just stood there, trembling with anger, until Ellana got up and headed for the door.

“All I wanted was to protect him,” Dorian managed finally, the words rough as sandpaper.

Ellana cast a meaningful look around the galley of the ship they’d chartered to find her missing brother. “How did that work out?” she asked, and she shouldered her way out the door.

* * *

“I’m going hunting,” the Herald announces.

It’s the Seeker, Cassandra, who voices the general concern. “Is that wise? It is nearly dusk, and this area is not safe.”

“I think we have everything you need, ser,” the dwarven scout adds.

 _Except a roof over our heads_ , Dorian thinks. _Or proper sanitation. Or anything that might reasonably be considered food._ He keeps this to himself. These people are all but strangers, and they already consider him the pampered little prince. It wouldn’t do to play into their assumptions – no matter how coincidentally close to the mark they might be.

“Thank you, Scout Harding. I’m sure we’ll be very comfortable,” the elf says. “But the refugees at the Crossroads are still hungry, and there’s plenty of game around here.”

The Qunari rumbles sceptically. “Plenty of bandits, too.”

Dorian eyes the Herald. It’s obvious he’s going no matter what anyone says, and given the choice between tagging along and lingering back at camp with a Qunari and a Super Templar, Dorian’s path is clear. “I’ll go with him,” he offers. “Between the two of us, we should be safe enough.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” And before the others can object any further, the elf grabs a bow and a quiver of arrows and leads the way out of camp.

They exchange few words at first. The Herald scrutinizes the landscape with a practiced eye before setting off in what seems to Dorian an entirely random direction, his footfalls making no sound as he tracks through the undergrowth. “There’s a game trail here,” he says, pointing at the shrubbery in a manner that suggests Dorian is supposed to see something.

“Oh yes,” Dorian says. “Evidently.”

The elf hears the hint of sarcasm, and he smiles. “By the way, I don’t know that I’ve properly thanked you. For that business in Redcliffe, I mean.”

“That business in Redcliffe? That whole time-travelling-demon-army-Elder-One thing?”

“Yes, that.”

“You’re most welcome. I’m not always so helpful to strangers, but I couldn’t very well let you go it alone. There’s a shortage of pretty faces in the south. It seemed important to preserve yours.”

The elf cuts him a sidelong look but says nothing, and Dorian wonders if he’s made a mistake. Lavellan doesn’t seem like the sort to take offence at a bit of meaningless flirting, but he’s hard to read. There’s an intriguing guardedness about him. A quiet sort of watchfulness, like a hunter assessing his prey. A Dalish thing, perhaps?

“There.” The elf drops to his haunches suddenly. “Do you see it?”

Dorian scans the brush. “If by _it_ you mean trees and rocks…”

“Keep low.” Lavellan swings the bow off his shoulder and nocks an arrow.

Dorian narrows his eyes, but all he sees is dappled green. “Where are you—?”

The bow thumps, and a sad little bleat sounds from the bushes just ahead. Lavellan uncoils from his crouch with a satisfied smile. “There’s one,” he says. “How are you with a knife?” Dorian gives him an alarmed look, and the elf laughs. “That’s what I thought. Never mind, it won’t take me long on my own.”

“I have other talents, Herald,” Dorian says with a sly look.

“Oh, I have no doubt.”

Was there something in his tone just then? Dorian glances at him, but the elf’s expression is perfectly serene, and he decides he’s imagining it. Lavellan leads him to his kill, kneeling before it and whispering a prayer in Elven before he takes out his knife. “Are you really going to butcher that thing here and now?” Dorian asks. “That seems awfully messy.”

“Not butcher, no. But I’d like to take two or three, and that will get heavy. I’ll gut them here and build a simple litter for dragging.”

“Fair enough,” Dorian says, unable to hide his grimace as the elf splays out a hind leg and starts sawing through hide. “So this is what you do, then? Go off on your own and shoot unsuspecting wildlife?”

The elf smiles – an incongruous expression for someone slashing open the warm belly of a harmless forest creature. “I was a hunter, yes, but I seldom hunted on my own. Dalish rarely do anything alone. We’re pack animals, I suppose you might say.”

“You seem awfully quiet for a pack animal.”

Lavellan shrugs as he moves around the carcass, his knife flashing. “Quiet doesn’t mean antisocial. I enjoy the company of others. It’s nice having you here, for example.”

“Of course it is. I’m extremely charming, and I always improve the view.” The elf smiles but doesn’t reply, and Dorian watches him in silence for a moment, impressed by the practiced efficiency of his movements. “You must miss them,” he says at length.

“Every day. I’m used to being surrounded by family. Everyone in everyone else’s business, helping, heckling, chatting. There’s constant activity, and you’re never alone.”

“It sounds like the Inquisition,” Dorian says dryly.

He laughs. “I suppose it does, a bit.”

“If I’m honest, it also sounds a bit trying. Do you ever have any privacy?”

“Not really, no. And you do crave solitude now and then. That’s part of the reason I became a hunter. The stillness of it. The quiet. But I always knew my brothers and sisters were nearby if I needed them. Just over the next hill, or around the corner. Each of us bound together even in our solitude, like the roots of the aspen tree. That was everything.” His smile is fading as he speaks, and Dorian hears the longing in his voice. “The worst thing in the world is loneliness,” he finishes quietly.

Dorian can’t fathom this attitude. He’s spent his entire life in various shades of loneliness. Never quite fitting in anywhere. No real friends to speak of. Loneliness is practically his sigil, and these days, he wears it with pride. “One can get quite used to loneliness,” he says, “if one has to.”

The elf actually shudders at that. “I hope I never have to,” he says, and he digs his knife in deeper.

* * *

Dorian blinked against the glare of the water, the memory vanishing like morning mist. He’d forgotten that conversation until today. Until Ellana had splayed him open and driven a knife into his guts. He couldn’t decide what made him angrier: her bloody presumptuousness, or the fact that she was right, at least in part. He should have seen it. He should have realized. However difficult their separation was for him, it would have been ten times worse for Seth.

He’d forgotten that conversation in part because of what happened later. After he’d killed his third ram, Seth had waded into the river to bathe, stripping to the waist to wash the blood from his arms and tunic. _Well now_ , Dorian remembered thinking. _Here’s a pretty thing._ It was the first time he’d let his mind run away with a dirty little fantasy, the first hint that the Herald of Andraste was going to be a _problem_. Years later, the two of them had found themselves at that same bend in the river, and Dorian told him the story. _Do you remember that evening, when we went hunting together? You bathed in the river…_ Seth was amused by the idea that Dorian had been quietly lusting after him on the riverbank, and he decided to let the fantasy play out.

_Is this what you wanted me to do, Dorian?_

_Yes._

_And this?_

_Yes. Yes. Yes yes yes…_

That memory would forever be changed now. Just one more thing lost, or at least broken beyond repair.

Something bumped against his thigh. Maggie nudged her head under Dorian’s hand, and he scratched her ears. “Are you lonely, my darling?” he murmured. “It’s a terrible thing, isn’t it, being a wolf without a pack? But we’ve found each other again. You’re not alone anymore.”

The wolf licked his hand and wagged her tail, and Dorian stared into the glare of the sea until his eyes watered.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are these chapters always so much longer than I intended? *fumes*

“Ironic,” Cassandra said as the gates of the farm rose up in the distance. “We are not far from Caer Oswin, where the Promisers last made their stronghold.”

 _Ironic_ was not the word Dorian would have chosen. As far as he was concerned, one camp full of half-mad, magic-suppressing fanatics was as good as another. True, this particular camp of fanatics was presided over by a man he trusted and even considered a friend, but that didn’t mean this was going to be a pleasant experience.

“You look nervous,” Cassandra said, as though reading his thoughts.

“Nonsense. Why should I be nervous? Except that I couldn’t look more Tevinter if I had the words _Evil Magister_ stitched onto my cloak, and here I am about to stroll onto a farm crawling with jittery, withdrawal-addled ex-templars. I'd be better off wading into a pack of feral mabari with a nice, juicy steak around my neck.”

“You needn’t fear. Without lyrium, these men and women pose little threat to someone like you.”

“Unless they stab me in the back with a farming implement. Pitchforks have quite a reach, you know.”

“Do not be concerned. You and I both know Maggie would not let anyone near you who smelled of ill intent. You are her beta wolf.” Cassandra smiled at the hulking beast trotting along at Dorian’s side. “She will protect you. And so will I.”

“And me,” Ellana added quietly. They were the first words she’d spoken to him in two days.

The guard at the gate cast a wary eye on their little group as they approached. Then Cassandra pulled back her hood, and the poor fellow nearly fainted. “Your Holiness! It’s an honour and a… a…” He froze, apparently stuck.

“A delight, no doubt,” Dorian supplied impatiently, “and possibly the greatest moment of your life, but you could kindly fetch Commander Cullen?”

The man sprinted for the farmhouse as if he were running from a rage demon, leaving great gouges in the mud behind him.

Ellana watched him go with a bemused expression. “Do humans always react that way in the presence of the Divine?”

“Not in Tevinter,” Dorian said. “They scrape and fawn and feed him grapes. Here, they assume such toadying would result in bodily harm, and I suspect they’re not wrong.”

“No,” Cassandra said sourly, “they are not.”

They headed for the farmhouse. Dorian kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead as he walked, trying very hard not to notice the farm hands – former templars all, presumably – staring at him from every corner of the property. Kitted out in his glittering battle armour, dragon-headed staff strapped to his back and the Tevinter serpent climbing the back of his cloak, he must have looked like a giant middle finger to each and every one of them, and for the first time since… well, _ever_ , probably, Dorian wished he’d dressed more plainly.

“Your Holiness!” Cullen appeared on the porch of the farmhouse, smiling – until his gaze fell on Dorian, whereupon his mouth tightened into a grim line.

“Lovely to see you too, Commander,” Dorian said.

Cullen actually blushed a little, adorably enough. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but if you’re here, it can’t be good news.”

“Fair enough, and no – it isn’t. Shall we go inside?” Dorian threw an uncomfortable glance over his shoulder. “I fear I’m agitating the locals.”

Cullen, however, seemed quite distracted by the third member of their party, his eyes widening as he took in her familiar features. “Is that…?”

“The Inquisitor’s sister,” Cassandra said.

“She’s the one responsible for this little get-together, actually,” Dorian added.

Ellana scowled. “Excuse me, I’m standing _right here._ My name is Ellana. Now can we please go inside before Dorian starts a riot?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Dorian said, mounting the steps.

They were ushered into a small kitchen that smelled of freshly baked bread. Did Cullen bake the bread? Was he wearing an apron at the time? Dorian was dying to inquire into these important matters, but it wouldn’t do to seem glib in front of Ellana. She disliked him enough as it was.

“Things seem to be going well here,” Cassandra said as they seated themselves around a scarred wooden table. “The grain in the fields is high, and the livestock look strong.”

Cullen nodded as he tossed fresh logs into the stove for tea. Dorian briefly debated heating the kettle himself, but the slightest twinge of magic would probably be a mistake. Doubtless there were a few templars on the property who were still capable of feeling vibrations in the Veil, and as intriguing as the notion of being tackled by a pack of sweaty farm hands might be, there was serious business afoot.

“Farm work keeps the men active,” Cullen said. “It’s easier to forget the pain for a time when the hands are busy.”

“How many are you here?” Cassandra asked.

“Thirty-two at the moment. There used to be more, but so many have been lured away by the Order of Fiery Promise.”

“So you do know about that,” Dorian said.

“Oh yes.” Cullen pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “The Inquisitor told me all about it.”

Ellana sat up sharply. “He was here?”

“A few months ago, along with Varric and Sera.” Cullen’s expression turned grim, his glance cutting between Cassandra and Dorian. “If you’re asking… Where is he now? What’s happened?”

Cassandra explained the situation with her usual blunt efficiency, while Ellana stared at her lap and Dorian drummed his fingers restlessly on the table. By the time she’d finished, the kettle was whistling and nobody was the least bit interested in tea.

Cullen took the kettle off and started to pace, wearing his Commander face now. “The Inquisitor suspected Malkar was recruiting former templars. That was consistent with what we’d been seeing here at the farm.”

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked.

Cullen’s gaze was on Ellana, but he shifted it back to the Divine. “Not everyone who comes here succeeds in shedding their addiction. Some give up and simply drift off. Rylen’s job was to track them down and try to convince them to come back. Usually, they hadn’t gone far. He’d find them in the nearby villages, begging, or in Denerim, looking for work. But for the past year or so, they’d just disappear.”

“That seems to be going around lately,” Dorian said darkly.

“Rylen started hearing rumours they’d been recruited into some new mercenary outfit. That wasn’t unheard of, of course, but the numbers involved…” Cullen shook his head. “We suspected there was something bigger going on. Then the Inquisitor arrived with his information, and it made sense. Or at least, it was starting to.” He paused, his gaze on Ellana again. Dorian couldn’t decide if the good commander was smitten or just feeling sorry for her. Either way, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the younger Lavellan, a fact Dorian would have found amusing under other circumstances. “We gave him as much information as we could, though it wasn’t much. Rylen worked out that the recruitment seemed to be concentrated around the Storm Coast, so that’s where the Inquisitor was headed next.”

“Except he was diverted to Tevinter.” Dorian sighed. “I’m beginning to see. Malkar must have realized Seth was on his tail, and decided to distract him with a little tale about his…” He faltered briefly. “About an old friend in trouble.”

“The Imperium has been a favourite destination for ex-templars for a while now,” Cullen said. “It’s rumoured to be an excellent place to find work. Squabbling nobles have plenty of use for magic-suppressing mercenaries.”

“Yet another reason Malkar and his lunatics would set up shop in Minrathous.” Dorian sniffed in distaste. “That sort of thing used to be considered quite out of bounds. My homeland really is going to the dogs.”

“Where is Rylen now?” Cassandra asked.

“The Storm Coast. We concocted a plan for him to infiltrate the Promisers. He’s been asking around at the local taverns for the past few weeks, posing as an ex-templar seeking work. No luck yet, but I received word from him a few days ago that Red Templars have been spotted in their old lair at Daerwin’s Mouth.”

Dorian frowned. “That horrid dwarven port we cleared out all those years ago? What would they be doing there?”

“It cannot be a coincidence,” Cassandra said. “They must be Malkar’s people. Which means that is where we must go.”

“Agreed,” said Cullen. “We can leave first thing in the morning.”

“Does that mean you’re coming with us?” Ellana looked pleased, as well she might. This was starting to shape up into a proper search party.

“If you’ll have me.” Cullen fixed those pretty puppy dog eyes on her. “If the Inquisitor has need of my sword, I’m ready.”

“It’s beginning to sound as if the Inquisitor needs all the help he can get,” Dorian said.

 _Assuming he’s still alive._ The thought hovered, unspoken, in the air.

Cullen cleared his throat. “I’ll make tea,” he said, and nobody had the heart to refuse.

* * *

Dorian sat on the back porch, staring out over the fields as he stroked Maggie’s fur. Inside, thirty former templars broke bread together, their muffled laughter jarring Dorian’s nerves. He himself had no appetite, which was just as well. He was no stranger to awkward dinner conversation, but this would have been a trifle extreme. _Imprisoned any mages lately? Dear me, no, it’s been ages since I brutalized someone for being born different. What about you? Get up to much blood magic these days?_

“Dorian.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin. “ _Vishante kaffas._ You’re as bad as your brother. I should hang a bell around your neck.”

“Sorry. It’s a Dalish thing, I guess.” Ellana perched on the step beside him, and for a while they just sat in silence, watching swallows dive and swoop for insects in the hay. The air smelled of rain and earth and grass, bringing back memories of Redcliffe Farms. If he squinted, Dorian could almost picture Seth standing out in the fields, waving at him to catch up.

He cursed inwardly. Was there a single corner of the world that didn’t call up memories of his ex?

“About the other day,” Ellana said.

 _Oh, do we get to talk about this some more? How delightful._ “It’s all right,” he muttered, hoping they might leave it at that.

“It’s not. What I said… It was true, but it wasn’t my place to say it, and this is hardly the time. You had every right to be angry with me, and I’m sorry.”

Dorian sighed. “It wasn’t just you I was angry with. I was angry with myself, too. And with him. Perhaps especially with him.”

“I can understand that. I’m guessing he didn’t show you the extent of it. How much he was hurting, I mean.”

“Of course not. He wouldn’t, would he? Not until it was too late. After everything we’d shared together, he still couldn’t…” Dorian shook his head. “And if it was so terrible for him, why didn’t he just go back to his clan for a time? You would have welcomed him back, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes…”

Dorian heard the unspoken word, and he glanced at her. “But?”

“It wouldn’t have been easy for him there, either.”

“Because he’d changed?”

“In part. And also because it would have revived a conversation he didn’t want to have.”

“What conversation is that?”

Ellana hesitated, her eyes searching his. “I’m not sure if Seth discussed it with you. I’m getting the sense maybe he didn’t, in which case it’s not my place to—”

“Oh, no you don’t. You had no qualms about speaking out of turn the other day. It hardly seems fair to start now.”

She flushed and looked away. “Can we just drop it? I shouldn’t have said anything. I was certain he would have told you, but it seems like he didn’t, and…”

“Ellana.” Dorian’s voice grated. “This sounds very much like something he _should_ have told me. So please, I’d like to hear it.”

She hesitated a moment longer. “There was pressure for him to…” She sighed. “For him to become bonded.”

Dorian stared, thunderstruck. “I didn’t think the Dalish had arranged marriages.”

“It’s not common, but it does happen. Dalish clans are relatively small. It’s important to bring new blood into the clan in every generation, to avoid inbreeding. Sometimes, partners from different clans are lucky enough to meet by chance, or at gatherings like the Arlathvhen. More often, such alliances are negotiated.”

“For the purposes of having children?”

She nodded.

“And they want Seth to… Don’t they know he’s…?”

“Yes.”

“Then why in Andraste’s name would they ask him? Get someone else to do it!”

“It’s not that simple. The fever that killed my parents all those years ago took a terrible toll on our clan. Many adults of childbearing age perished. The result is that my generation is one of the smallest in living memory. Seth and I are… rare and valuable.”

“Rare and valuable?” Dorian echoed in a biting singsong. “Like a fine horse? Or an Antivan port?”

She ignored that, continuing to explain even as she turned redder. “Especially Seth, with the accolades attached to his name. Other clans are clamouring to bond their eligible daughters to him. Our keeper has done what she can to shield him from the pressure, but now that Seth is unattached, it’s become very difficult. I did what I could to help. I agreed to a match only a couple of months ago. Seth doesn’t even know about it yet.”

“That’s the important matter you needed to discuss with him? The one you mentioned back in Minrathous?”

She nodded. “I’m fortunate. I know and respect the man they’ve chosen for me. I hoped that would buy Seth more time, but it’s done the opposite. Now the feeling seems to be, _if_ _his younger sister can do her duty, why can’t he_?”

There was a stretch of silence. Dorian’s blood was a dull roar in his ears. “A moment ago, you said, _now that Seth is unattached_. Am I to understand this conversation began while we were still together?”

Ellana swore under her breath and rubbed her eyes. “I shouldn’t be the one telling you this. Damn it, Seth.” Sighing, she added, “It began from the moment they made him Inquisitor. It’s been going on for years, and the voices get louder with each moon.”

Dorian felt lightheaded. How could Seth keep something like this from him? “Is he…” Dorian swallowed hard. “Is he going to submit to this pressure?”

“I honestly don’t know. But you know my brother. Duty is important to him.”

“Important enough to spend the rest of his life bonded to someone he doesn’t love?”

“He wouldn't necessarily have to. Under circumstances like these, once the purpose of the alliance is fulfilled, the couple can part ways without shame. As for the rest…” She shrugged. “Sex without love is nothing new to most of us, is it?”

“Perhaps not, but this would be different. A woman…”

Ellana glanced at him sharply – and looked away just as suddenly.

“Ah,” Dorian said softly. “Not the first time for that either, I take it?”

She buried her face in her hands and laughed bitterly. “ _Damn it, Seth._ ”

Dorian sighed. “There, at least, I can’t be critical. We made a conscious decision not to discuss our previous liaisons.” By _we_ , Dorian largely meant himself. He’d had no desire to acquaint Seth with the details of his more dissolute years. They would not have painted him in a flattering light. “Were there many?” he asked, despite himself. “Lovers, I mean?”

“That is definitely not for me to speak of. But I will say this.” For the first time in several minutes, Ellana looked him right in the eye. “The Seth I grew up with treated romance the same way he did everything else. That same infuriating equanimity, like nothing could ever get to him. He enjoyed it, but he never got too attached. Never let anything disrupt those still waters. And then he met you. The Seth who wrote to me those first few months after you joined the Inquisition…” She laughed, and a shimmer of tears came into her eyes. “Oh, Dorian. You destroyed him. It was so beautiful to watch, even from afar. My whole life, I’d been waiting to see even the smallest ripple in that pond. The slightest breath of wind stirring those leaves. I wasn’t even sure it was possible, and then you came along like a tempest, and…” She looked away, still smiling even as she swiped a tear from her cheek. “That, more than anything, is why I was so angry with you. Why I’m still…”

Dorian blinked back the stinging in his own eyes. “You can be angry, Ellana,” he said roughly. “I’m angry too.”

“What if we don’t find him?” she whispered, her tears falling in earnest now. “What if he’s…?”

Dorian put his arm around her and drew her close, and she buried her face in his shoulder. “We’re going to find him. I swear it. And then, my dear, you and I…” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Are going to kill him.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I don’t deny this outfit is more functional,” Dorian said with an airy gesture at Cassandra’s battlemaster armour. “But it’s not nearly as flattering as the gold one you wore at the Exalted Council.”

Cassandra frowned, her gaze on the road as their horses approached the outskirts of the village. “It is not an _outfit_. It is protection, not finery. And I do not need to be flattered.”

“All that lovely tooling on the breastplate,” he went on. “The form-fitting curves, the luxurious fur collar. The hat, mind you, is simply tragic. Looks like the sort of thing that ought to be affixed to the end of a polearm.”

“There we agree. Though it is not a _hat_ , either, as you well know. Nor are you as frivolous as you pretend, or you would not wear a helm in battle.”

“Ah, but the helm keeps me pretty for later. Which means I am precisely that frivolous.”

It felt good, this familiar banter. A way of keeping their minds off the grim business at hand. Even Ellana seemed to appreciate the distraction, smiling and even chipping in from time to time. _Almost like the old days_ , Dorian thought – except, of course, for the glaring absence of the _other_ Lavellan.

But no – Seth wasn’t exactly absent, was he? He walked alongside them, if only in memory, a silent shadow haunting their every step. Like a spirit from the Fade, or… _Or a waking dream_ , Dorian thought. _Setheneras_ Lavellan in reality as well as in name.

“I do not know this village,” Cassandra said as they rode under the crude wooden arch that passed for a gate.

“Nor I,” said Cullen. “From the looks of it, it’s barely a hitching post.”

A hitching post with an inn, at least, and Dorian was relieved at the prospect of something resembling a proper bed to sleep in. They’d hired a stage to take them as far as Highever, but they’d been on horseback since then, not wishing to draw too much attention to themselves this close to their destination. It had been slow going, not least because of the foul weather that perpetually hovered over this blighted stretch of coast. Dorian had _such_ fond memories of this area. Soaked to his smalls, shivering himself to sleep every night – assuming a gust of wind didn’t tear down his tent. Not to mention the red lyrium everywhere. He was particularly looking forward to being reacquainted with that brand of headache.

The common room of the inn was dark and damp and smelled charmingly of beer-soaked rushes, with just a soupcon of urine. Ah, Ferelden. At least there was a roaring fire in the hearth, and Dorian had just started toward it when a rough voice accosted him from across the room.

“Oi. You can’t bring that animal in here.”

Dorian sighed. Not this again.

A round little man with a face like a root vegetable glowered at him from behind the bar. “No dogs,” he said, pointing a fat finger at Maggie.

“She won’t be any trouble,” Dorian said coolly. “Indeed, I daresay she’s more civilized than most of your patrons.” That last part was probably unhelpful, but it was also true.

“Might be, wise arse, but that don’t mean she’s welcome. Got standards to maintain, ain’t I?”

“Evidently, which is why you’re wiping that mug with a rag that looks like it’s been stored under the armpit of a Qunari.”

“Maker’s breath, Dorian,” Cullen muttered. “You’re going to get us all tossed out.” Raising his voice, he added, “The wolf can wait outside, if that will suffice.”

“Aye,” the innkeep said sullenly. “It’ll suffice if you put a leash on it. And on that one’s tongue, while you’re at it.”

A ripple of coarse laughter went around the common room. A farmer the size of a druffalo sneered at Dorian from a table in the back, and a trio of dwarves eyed him darkly from near the hearth. Apparently, his remark about uncivilized patrons hadn’t earned him any friends. Some people were so _touchy_.

“Honestly, Dorian,” Cassandra said, pulling her hood lower as they chose a table near the fire. “Why do you take such amusement in needlessly antagonizing others?”

“Where else should I find amusement in this frigid bog of a town?”

“My brother used to say that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” Ellana put in, rubbing her hands together in front of the fire.

"Did he? I’m disappointed. One of the things I most appreciated about him as Inquisitor was his avoidance of the usual platitudes and clichés.”

“Cliché it might be,” Cassandra said, “but it is also true, as he himself demonstrated time and again. I wish I could follow his example, but I confess I find it difficult.”

“Me too,” Ellana said, smiling. “He used to have to apologize for me a lot, and it drove him crazy. But he never could stay cross with me for long. It was my secret weapon.”

“We have that in common,” Dorian said. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Cullen returned from tying Maggie up outside, and they ate a bland meal. (Dorian chose to believe that no one had spit in his, though he did take the precaution of wiping down his own mug with a handkerchief.) When they were through, they repaired to their rooms – Cullen and Dorian sharing one, Cassandra and Ellana the other – and Dorian fell asleep almost instantly…

…only to be awakened some hours later by a familiar howl from outside.

“Poor Maggie,” Cullen mumbled, his cot creaking as he shifted position. “She must be lonely out there.”

“No.” Dorian sat up with a frown, wide awake now. “That’s not a lonely sound. It’s a warning.”

As if on cue, Maggie started barking, unmistakably agitated. Dorian swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and just as his slippers hit the floor, a worrying smell reached his nose.

“Is that…?” A Cullen-shaped shadow sat bolt upright, sniffing at the air. “Do I smell smoke?”

“You do,” Dorian snapped, already stuffing his feet into his boots. For once, he was glad these freezing southern temperatures obliged him to sleep almost fully clothed. Rather handy when one was in a hurry.

Cullen sprang out of bed, fumbling in the dark for his own clothing. “There are no windows on this floor, at least that I saw. We’ll have to get out the way we came in.”

That would be easier said than done. Dorian didn’t have to open the door to know the fire was downstairs; he could tell from the smoke curling through the gap under the door. “Let’s hope the flames aren’t between us and the exit.”

“Is there time to gather our things? I’d rather not let my armour burn to a crisp.”

Dorian tapped the door handle tentatively. It wasn’t hot, but when he pressed the latch, it wouldn’t move. “The damn thing’s stuck!”

“What do you mean, stuck?”

Dorian scowled as he took the latch two-handed, rattling it ineffectually. “I’m employing the conventional definition of the term. As in _won’t budge_. I think it’s locked.”

“From the outside? How is that…? Never mind. Get out of the way.” Dorian barely had time to move before Cullen threw himself bodily into the door, shattering the frame and sending himself stumbling out onto the mezzanine.

Dorian was totally unprepared for the inferno that greeted them in the common room. “ _Kaffas_ ,” he hissed, throwing an arm over his face and dropping to a crouch. Flames rolled up the wall behind the bar, licking the rafters above. It wouldn’t be long before the whole ceiling took light, roasting the occupants of the rooms directly across from them.

“Fire!” Cullen hollered, banging his sword against his shield. “Everyone out!”

Shouts went up all over the building, but no one emerged. Straining to hear, Dorian could just make out the rattling of doors over the roar of the flames. “They’re all locked in!”

“Maker’s breath! Ellana…” Cullen whirled toward her room, but he needn’t have worried: a heartbeat later, Cassandra burst onto the mezzanine like a Divine battering ram, sending a shower of sad little splinters in all directions. Behind her, Ellana emerged with her scarf pulled up over her nose and mouth. They were both dressed, if somewhat sloppily, and Cassandra had even managed to don her breastplate.

“We heard Maggie howling,” Cassandra said as she righted herself. “But someone locked our door.”

“Ours too,” Dorian said. “And everyone else’s, from the sounds of it.”

“We have to get these people out!” Cullen was already moving along the corridor.

Cassandra glanced at Dorian. “Can you make it snow?”

“Not without erratic winds, and that will only spread the flames faster.” He took a moment to gather his wits, and then he started casting, compressing the ambient moisture into ice crystals. He thrust both hands in the air, and a wall of ice erupted from the floor below, trapping the worst of the flames behind it. “That should buy us some time, but not much.”

Cassandra and Cullen moved in opposite directions, kicking down doors where they could and leaving Ellana to pick the locks of those that wouldn’t give way. Dorian, meanwhile, set about clearing the floor below, moving tables and chairs with magic and piling them into a corner lest they become more kindling for the flames.

By the time every room had been broken into, about a dozen people stood huddled at the top of the stairs, whimpering and coughing. The smoke was so bad now that tears streamed down Dorian’s face, heat searing his lungs as the fire crawled across the ceiling like a living thing, raking at the wooden beams with claws of flame.

“We must keep moving!” Cassandra cried. “This floor could collapse at any moment!”

“Right over our heads, if we go down those stairs,” Cullen said grimly.

 _Bugger and damn._ Dorian was hardly a specialist in force magic, but he didn’t see much choice. The flames were spreading too quickly, burning too hot; the whole thing was about to come down. “Lead them out, Commander,” he shouted above the roar. “I’ll try to keep the ceiling in place.” Without waiting for an answer, he mustered his strength and raised both arms, _pushing_ the folds of the Veil against the ceiling with enough vibration to keep ash and flames from raining down on the people already scurrying down the stairs. Cullen led the way while Cassandra brought up the rear, but Ellana stayed where she was, coughing and squinting against the smoke.

“What about you? Can you move while you’re doing this?”

Dorian gave a short shake of his head. “Go,” he said through gritted teeth.

“But—”

Her words were cut off as one of the rafters buckled; Dorian grunted and raised his hands higher, trembling with the strain. “ _Go._ ”

“I'm not leaving you!”

The fiercely defiant look in her eyes was so familiar that he wanted to laugh. But that might result in the entire ceiling collapsing, so he didn’t.

Ellana leaned out over the railing. “They’re out,” she reported. “What now?”

“Now we run, you ridiculous stubborn thing.” He released the spell – and his knees gave out, forcing Ellana to catch him. The spell had drained him more than he’d expected, and without Ellana’s arm under his, he might not have made it out. As it was, she half-dragged, half-carried him down the stairs until Cullen reappeared and slipped a shoulder under Dorian’s other arm, whisking him outside just as a groaning _crack_ behind them signalled the collapse of the beam he’d been holding in place. They dove to the ground amid a shower of glowing sparks and hot air, and a plume of flame leapt into the night sky behind them.

For a moment Dorian just lay there, coughing and gasping for breath. But it wasn’t over yet.

“The livery!” someone cried.

“Andraste’s mercy, my house!”

All over the village, thatched roofs were taking light. People scattered like angry hornets, running this way and that, and for a moment Dorian was overcome with memories of Haven – the screams and the smell of roasting flesh as an archdemon circled overhead.

But this wasn’t Haven, not yet, and those sparks had barely taken light. Dorian patted himself down and… yes, he’d remembered to grab his pouches. He uncorked a lyrium potion, took a draught, and dragged himself to his feet with the aid of his staff, already casting a blizzard. He couldn’t put out all the fires this way, but he could douse the small ones, and bring others under control, and he did his best to cover the widest area possible.

Then he sank to his knees in the mud, because he was a might exhausted.

Ellana knelt at his side, Maggie’s leash in hand. The wolf’s fur was dusted with ash, but she appeared otherwise unscathed. Cassandra and Cullen were nowhere to be seen, off heroically assisting somewhere. “I think the worst of it is over,” Ellana said, helping Dorian to his feet as villagers bumped and jostled all around them.

“I’m not sure. I have a feeling—”

The knife almost took him in the back. But somehow Ellana sensed it, and she jerked Dorian aside just as the assassin struck. A blade flashed, glinting in the light of the flames, but it sliced through air. Cold eyes met Dorian's. Then the dwarf turned and ran, his hood flying back as he fled into the night.

He wouldn’t get far.

“Maggie,” Dorian growled.

The wolf surged after him, and a moment later, a shriek sounded from behind a building. By the time Dorian and Ellana caught up, Maggie was licking a wound in her side, and a very dead dwarf with his throat torn out lay face up in the mud.

“Damn,” Ellana said.

“It was self-defence. She knows to leave them alive if she can." Dorian knelt at the wolf's side. "Let me see that, my darling. There now, it doesn’t look too bad. Good girl.”

Ellana frowned, tilting her head as she studied the dwarf’s face. “I recognize him. He was in the tavern earlier, along with his friends.”

“Carta, I’ll wager.” Dorian scanned the still-smoking village with a sigh. “Which means all this was for us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s only because you don’t have enough experience with people wanting to murder you.”

As he spoke, Cassandra and Cullen jogged up. “Thank the Maker,” Cassandra said. “When we lost track of you, we feared the worst. These fires were set deliberately.”

“As a distraction, it would seem,” Cullen said, taking in the scene. “A way to strike at us when our backs were turned. Cowards.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dorian said languidly. “I imagine they wanted to roast us alive first, and this was only Plan B.”

Ellana glanced back at what was left of the inn, still burning out of control. “All those people…” She brought a hand to her stomach, as if she felt ill. “They nearly died because of _us_?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dorian said. “My guess? Our friends weren’t sure which rooms we were in, so they decided to lock them all. Either that, or they knew we’d delay trying to get everyone out and hoped we’d be killed in the process.”

“So what are we dealing with?” Cassandra frowned. “Carta?”

Dorian nodded. “They must have recognized us in the tavern. And since there were three of them, it’s safe to assume they’ll spread the word that we’re coming for them.”

Cullen sighed, gazing ruefully at the burning inn. “I suppose that’s my armour done for.” Dorian’s would be scarred but serviceable, and Cassandra’s too, dragon-based materials being impervious to flame. But Cullen’s everite mail would be a puddle before it was all over. "I've had that set since Kirkwall."

“My bow is in there, too,” Ellana said. “We’ll have to re-equip somewhere.”

“Easier said than done in this corner of Ferelden.” Cullen sighed again. “Still, there’s a silver lining in all this. If those Carta thugs went to all this trouble, it means we’re getting close.”

“Let’s hope so,” Dorian said, scratching Maggie’s ears as he eyed the dead dwarf. “Either way, things are about to get interesting.”


	13. Chapter 13

“This bed is squishy,” Seth says, pressing down on the mattress with a frown.

Dorian cuts a look at the merchant, but thankfully he’s too far away to hear, loitering near the door of the shop in an unconvincing attempt not to hover. “It’s not _squishy_ , it’s luxurious. Like that overstuffed goose-down pillow you’re so fond of.”

“The longer I lie here, the deeper it gets.” Seth rolls over, his face half concealed in fluffy mattress. He grasps at his lover in mock alarm. “Help me, Dorian, I’m sinking!”

“Stop that. The merchant is looking right at you.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with the bed we have.”

“That’s only because you grew up sleeping on the ground. Trust me, _amatus_ , we can do better than that slab of masonry back at Skyhold.”

“Pardon? I can’t hear you. My ears are stuffed with mattress.”

“Yes, yes, all right.” Dorian rolls off the bed. “Let’s try another, shall we?”

They poke around the shop a while longer, but Seth clearly isn’t interested in a new bed. They compromise on a set of silk brocade curtains in a stunning garnet hue, and Dorian congratulates himself once again on having landed the one Dalish in all of Thedas whose taste is nearly as impeccable as his own.

They’re back at Skyhold now, watching the servants unload their new purchase, and Seth spots a roll of fabric too short to be curtains. “Ah!” he says brightly. “That one goes over here, please.” He gestures at a conspicuously naked bit of floor where a certain ghastly Antivan rug used to reside. “We’ll take it from here, everyone, thank you.” The servants withdraw, and the Inquisitor starts unwrapping his prize.

“Have you been shopping without me?” Dorian eyes the elf warily. “Is this what you were up to while I waited at the bistro?”

“I finally found it,” Seth says excitedly. “The perfect replacement for the rug we lost.”

Lost? Is he mad? He knows perfectly well how Dorian felt about that dreadful thing. It wasn’t _lost_ , it was ruined, having been soiled repeatedly by a clever wolf pup who may or may not have been encouraged in that enterprise by an interested party.

Seth starts rolling out the new rug, and at first it doesn’t look that bad. Plush fabric, in deep greens and golds that coordinate acceptably with the new curtains. Then the motif starts to appear, and Dorian feels a prickle of dread. Is that a tree trunk? And halla hooves? And… Andraste preserve us, yes, there are _elves_ on this delightful little floor tapestry, frolicking elfily in the forest, surrounded by a smattering of woodland creatures. All of which would be bad enough if the figures were skilfully done, but the proportions are all wrong, the bodies too thin and the ears too long, the faces laughably crude. It is, in short, the single most hideous bit of weaving since the invention of the loom.

He starts to declare as much, but then Seth smiles up at him, and the boyish excitement on his face is so touching that Dorian closes his mouth with a snap.

“It’s Dalish!” Seth declares happily.

“Yes.” Dorian manages a weak smile. “Isn’t that something?”

“It reminds me of home.” Seth considers the rug with a fond tilt of his head, and Dorian knows he’s doomed. He’ll have to walk over this atrocity of a carpet _every day_ without grimacing or making some snide remark. It’s too much to ask of anyone, surely, but especially of Dorian Pavus.

The elf rises, and there’s something dangerous in his eye. His mouth curls slowly, and he takes a fistful of Dorian’s leather straps, tugging him close.

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s pretty clear what I’m doing,” Seth says, fingers working skillfully at Dorian’s buckles. “We should induct this rug properly, don’t you think?”

The heat in those blue-green eyes is irresistible, and Dorian tries to put the rug out of his mind, yanking Seth’s tunic over his head and drawing the elf’s hips against his, cupping that tight little arse. The elf grinds against him, kissing his neck and nipping at his ear until Dorian’s blood is racing and his breeches are straining so badly it’s uncomfortable.

Seth draws him down onto the rug. _Don’t look_ , Dorian thinks. _Just don’t look at it._ But he can’t very well keep his eyes shut the entire time, and besides, the rest of the view is glorious. He tries to focus on his lover’s face. Those magnificent eyes. That full mouth just begging to be kissed…

Seth shifts, putting his face directly beside one of the elves in the tapestry. The misshapen visage stares up at Dorian, the features crooked and vaguely smeared, like a painting that was rolled up before it dried. He tries to look away, but he can’t; it’s like a road accident, mesmerizing in its awfulness. Then he feels his lover’s chest shudder beneath his, and he glances back at him. Seth is biting the inside of his bottom lip. His face twitches, and a moment later he bursts out laughing.

Heat floods Dorian’s skin. “You bastard.”

Seth is shaking with laughter now, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes. “Oh, Creators. The look on your face.”

“You are _such_ a bastard.” Dorian flops onto his back, relief washing over him.

“Did you really think I would… This thing? Is supposed to be _Dalish_? Is this really what humans think we do all day? Feed fawns by hand and cavort with bears?”

Dorian is laughing now too, more than willing to be the butt of the joke if it means he doesn’t have to live with this monstrosity. “Where in the world did you find such an awful thing? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Just tell me you didn’t spend good coin on it.”

“I did, actually, but it was worth every copper. I only wish you could have seen your face. You lasted longer than I thought, though. Pretending not to hate it.” He rolls over and pecks Dorian’s cheek. “I love you for trying.”

He starts to get up, but Dorian is having none of it. “Oh, no you don’t,” he says, grabbing his wrist. “You owe me, Lavellan.” Seth is only too happy to oblige, straddling him and bracing his hands against Dorian’s chest. A shaft of sunlight illuminates him from behind, glinting through the strands of silver hair and framing his laughing face in a soft glow. He leans forward and plants a kiss on Dorian’s mouth; the Dalish promise necklace dangling from his neck _clinks_ softly against its counterpart resting on Dorian’s chest.

“What’s that look?” Seth says, sitting back.

“You mean this syrupy adoring stare? I’m not sure, but I believe it might be unadulterated happiness.”

“There, you see?” Seth’s smile widens. “Who needs a soft bed?”

* * *

Dorian woke on the hard ground. And speaking of hard… He glanced under the blanket and sighed. What was it they said about recovery from addiction rarely being linear? It had been a long time since Seth haunted his dreams this routinely, and he’d almost managed to forget how thoroughly it could ruin his morning. It was as if the Fade itself were mocking him, dangling Seth before his eyes like a Dalish promise necklace. _See what you’ve lost? What a wretched fool you are, Dorian Pavus._

He yawned and stretched, his aching muscles protesting this rough treatment. After what happened back at the village, they’d decided to stay off the roads, which meant it would be camping from here on out. Dorian simply adored camping, especially in autumn. Cold ground for sleeping on, cold streams for bathing in – what more could you want, really? Except proper hygiene, of course, to say nothing of grooming. Dorian had already given up on his facial hair, reverting to the moustache and chin patch he’d become so adept at maintaining in the old days. The hair on his head, at least, was none the worse for wear; he’d forgotten how a little less washing resulted in an effortlessly sexy tousled look. Silver linings, and all that.

“There’s an old Inquisition campsite not far from here,” Cullen said as he buckled on his new cuirass. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it looked at least as respectable as the charred armour Dorian had fished out of the smoking ruins of the inn. Maker only knew when he’d be able to get it repaired. In the meantime, he was resigned to looking like something a dragon spat out in distaste.

“I believe I know which camp you’re referring to,” Cassandra said. “Which means we should find Daerwin’s Mouth by the end of the day.”

Daerwin’s Mouth and, Maker willing, some answers – though Dorian greatly feared what those might be. It had been almost three months since Seth and the others disappeared. In all likelihood, they were…

 _Stop it._ They was no point in speculating, grimly or otherwise. They would find what they would find. But if the Promisers had harmed one silver hair on Seth’s head, they would learn the true meaning of suffering. People feared necromancy for a reason. Dorian would remind them why.

They set off under an iron-grey sky, zigzagging through the maze of narrow valleys that cut between the hillsides. At about mid-day it started to drizzle, a steady patter broken only by the occasional mournful cry of a loon. Even the birds in this blighted place were miserable. But over this familiar symphony of sad soon came another familiar sound: a hissing sort of growl accompanied by a shuffling, uneven gait.

Maggie’s head swivelled toward the trees, a low rumble sounding in her throat. “ _Dianas_ ,” Dorian told her firmly. “You know the rules. They are not for you.”

“What is that?” Ellana scanned the trees, her bow already taut.

“Darkspawn,” Cassandra said.

Cullen frowned and drew his sword. “Strange. The Inquisition cleared this area out years ago.”

“Indeed,” Dorian said. “I sealed the tunnels myself.”

“And my men did a thorough sweep after that. As far as I know, there hasn’t been a single darkspawn sighting since.”

“There!” Ellana let fly, and a hurlock crumpled at the edge of the forest. Dorian threw a barrier over his allies just as a volley of arrows answered from the trees, and Cullen and Cassandra charged.

It wasn’t much of a battle. There were only half a dozen of them, no match for a Seeker, a templar, and a battlemage, especially when they had a skilled archer as backup. Dorian slung lazy bolts of ice from a distance and refreshed barriers where they needed it, and otherwise found the whole affair a bit of a bore. Maggie, meanwhile, sulked the way she always did in such encounters. She hated being left out, but Seth had laid down firm rules when it came to darkspawn. He didn’t want to risk her getting a mouthful of Taint.

When it was over, Ellana picked her way over to the darkspawn corpses, moving with the tentative steps of someone who isn’t entirely sure they want a closer look. “I’ve never seen one before.” Grimacing, she threw an arm over her face. “What is that _smell_?”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Dorian said.

“I wonder where they came from?” Cullen glanced about. “There are tracks all over this area.”

“Not all of them were left by this group,” Ellana said, dropping to her haunches to examine the ground. “These ones here were left by something bigger, but with the same lurching gait.”

“Be on your guard,” Cassandra said.

They pressed on, and about half an hour later, they reached the site of the old Inquisition camp. Dorian recognized the exact spot on the ridge where he’d rather foolishly pitched his tent the first time they’d come here. _Almost pretty up here_ , he remembered thinking. _A little privacy, nice view over the sea…_ Then a rogue gust of wind had torn his tent right off its stakes, and he’d learned a valuable lesson about vistas.

“This camp has been used recently,” Cullen said, kneeling beside a ring of blackened stones.

Hope flared in Dorian’s breast, but Ellana dashed it almost instantly. “Not by my brother.”

Cullen glanced up. “How can you tell?”

“For one thing, Dalish dig pits for their fires. It shelters them from wind and rain, which would be important here. Also…” She smiled wryly and held up an empty bottle. “Whatever this is, my brother would _never_ drink it.” She sniffed it, made a face, and handed it to Cullen.

“Maker’s breath, that _is_ vile. Homemade, from the smell of it.”

Dorian frowned. “Let me see that.” Cullen handed it to him, and he snorted. “Just as I thought. Recognize this, Your Holiness?” He tossed the bottle to Cassandra.

“That brings back memories,” she said, smiling at the wax seal affixed to the front of the bottle.

“Grey Warden hooch,” Dorian explained for the benefit of the others. “We used to find these from time to time. It became a bit of a joke, collecting as many as we could.”

“So the Grey Wardens have been here.” Cullen grunted thoughtfully. “That makes sense. They must have got word of the darkspawn incursion.”

“We should keep going,” Cassandra said. “We are nearly there.”

Cullen took point. “Eyes open, everyone. There are meant to be Red Templars and Promisers about.”

They followed the path down the hill, slip-sliding along the loose rock, and Dorian winced every time a cascade of stones tumbled down the path. They couldn’t have announced their approach more clearly if they’d shot a flaming arrow into the sky. His fingertips crackled with energy, barrier at the ready, but when they hit the beach, they found it empty.

That didn’t mean they could relax. Just ahead, the ancient dwarven port of Daerwin’s Mouth loomed, and the braziers flanking the entrance were lit. Someone was about.

“We sealed that entrance years ago,” Cullen whispered as they crouched behind a dead tree. “They must have broken in.”

But why? As far as Dorian could recall, there was nothing of value inside. They’d destroyed all the red lyrium long ago. True, the port itself was unusually sheltered for this area, but that hardly seemed important enough to—

Shouts sounded from inside the ruins. Everyone crouched lower. A figure came running out into the sunlight – only to freeze in panic at the top of the steps, scanning the sky. His knees seemed to go a little weak, but after a moment he recovered himself and started to run again. He was still too far away to see his face; all Dorian could make out for certain was that it was a dwarf, and he was _terrified_.

Carta? If so, the alliance between the smugglers and their Promiser friends must have soured, because a moment later a human archer appeared in the doorway, took aim with a bow, and shot the fleeing dwarf in the back. He pitched face-first onto the rocks and did not move again.

The archer descended the steps just far enough to make sure the dwarf was dead. Then he turned around and headed back inside, leaving the corpse for the gulls.

Dorian and the others waited several minutes. When no one else emerged, they crept closer, darting between rotting logs like mice scurrying around a kitchen. When they reached the body, Cullen rolled it over, and Cassandra gasped.

“What is the meaning of this? These tattoos…” She scanned the geometric skull inked onto the man’s face, and then her eyes met Dorian’s.

“Legion of the Dead,” Dorian said, mystified. “They never come to the surface. Why, they never even return to Orza…” He trailed off, his blood running cold.

_Dorian Pavus, you bloody fool._

The signs had all been there. The Carta. The darkspawn. Most of all, Maggie being left behind.

“I know where Seth went,” he said grimly. And he also knew what it meant. The odds of their friends surviving in that place for any length of time…

 _Oh,_ amatus, _why would you do such a thing?_ It wasn’t like Seth to be so reckless. But there could be no doubt. For reasons Dorian could not fathom, the man he loved had ventured into the most dangerous place in all of Thedas.

The Deep Roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like a good moment to mention: If these dream sequences are your jams and you haven't checked out the prequel, maybe head over. These fluffy bite-sized bits are the lion's share of that fic.


	14. Chapter 14

“The Deep Roads?” Cassandra echoed, aghast. “With _Varric_ _and_ _Sera_?” She shook her head firmly. “You must be mistaken. The Inquisitor would never do something so foolish.”

Dorian rubbed his eyes. There was a throbbing in his head, and a cold weight in his stomach. _Why, Seth? After everything we sacrificed to keep you safe?_ “Think about it, Cassandra,” he snapped impatiently. “Where is the one place he would never take Maggie? I’m only surprised it took me this long to work it out.”

Ellana brought a hand to her middle and sat heavily on the log, her face ashen.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Cullen said. “The Inquisitor can be impulsive at times, but I’ve never seen him act rashly.”

“Unless his hand is forced, which we can assume was the case.” Dorian leaned on his staff, fighting down a sickening fear that was all too familiar. He’d vowed never to feel this way again, after the Darvaarad. After he’d been forced to stand by and watch the love of his life screaming in agony, dragged off his feet by the anchor’s fury as it lashed uncontrollably. After he’d trailed Bull across the plaza at Halamshiral, the Qunari cradling the elf’s limp form while Cassandra shouted desperately for the healers. After he’d collapsed into a chair in the guest wing, soaked in Seth’s blood, clutching the amulet around his neck until the halla horns bit into his flesh, trying to shut out Josephine’s weeping and Cassandra’s pacing and Leliana’s prayers and everyone’s well-meaning platitudes.

_The Maker will protect him, Dorian._

_He’s a tough one. He’ll pull through, you’ll see._

And then, when Seth was out of danger, platitudes of a different kind. _At least it was only his hand. It could have been so much worse._

Afterward, Dorian sat at his lover’s bedside, watching his shallow breathing and aching with grief for all that Seth had lost, and he made a vow to himself. _Never again._ That was the moment when the promise he’d made only days before – _six months, nine at the outside_ – turned into a lie. Seth could not come to Minrathous in six months, or a year, or two years. Not until Dorian could guarantee he would never have to feel that sickening fear again. _I will keep him safe_. _Whatever it takes._

 _And how did that work out?_ Ellana’s words on the ship. Fate had such a delightful sense of humour.

“Is there an entrance to the Deep Roads in those ruins?” Cullen’s voice brought Dorian back to the here and now. “I don’t recall any mention of that in the reports.”

“I don’t believe so,” Cassandra replied. “Not when we were there. But there must have been once, when the dwarves used that port.”

Ellana was barely listening to this exchange. Her gaze was on Dorian, as if she was waiting for him to explain all this to her. If only he could.

“There are only two scenarios I can see,” he said, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand. “Either an ally was in imminent danger – Sera, say, or Varric – or whatever this Malkar is up to is so potentially catastrophic that Seth didn’t feel he could wait for reinforcements.”

“The Order of Fiery Promise is committed to destroying the world,” Cassandra reminded him. “Perhaps the Inquisitor feared they were on the brink of realizing that goal.”

Dorian massaged his aching scalp, eyes squeezed shut in thought. “If they’re planning something on that scale, it would explain why they need a large supply of lyrium. Though if it’s red lyrium they want, they’re better off growing it themselves.”

“Perhaps that is what they wanted with the Venatori research,” Cassandra suggested. “Instructions on how best to cultivate red lyrium.”

“But to what end? An army of Red Templars? Corypheus already tried that.”

“And he almost succeeded.”

Cullen made an impatient gesture. “Right now, what matters is that we find the Inquisitor and the others. We can worry about the rest later.” That earned him a weak smile from Ellana, and he gave her a reassuring nod in return.

“Agreed,” Cassandra said. “But we cannot just charge in. We have no idea what we will face on the other side of that door. A pity you no longer have the Ring of Doubt, Dorian.”

He made a sour face. “You should take that up with our former spymaster. Leliana promised to track down the thief, but she never did. My money’s still on Solas, by the way.”

“I can scout the entrance,” Ellana said. “If we wait for nightfall—”

“Out of the question,” Dorian said.

Blue-green eyes met his. “I don’t recall agreeing to serve under your command, Dorian,” she said coolly.

“Your brother would never forgive me if anything were to happen to you.”

“My brother is not here, and I don’t need his permission, either. I’m a grown woman and a skilled hunter and I can get about every bit as stealthily as he does, if not more so.”

“I agree with Dorian,” Cullen said. “It’s too dangerous. We should scout the area instead. See if there’s another way in.”

“There’s no time,” Ellana returned. “And this isn’t a discussion. I came to you all, remember? I’m grateful for your help, but this is my responsibility. Seth is _my_ brother. I’m going to do whatever it takes to save him, even if it means risking my own life.” She met each of their gazes in turn, daring them to argue. She got an approving nod from Cassandra and a resigned one from Cullen. Dorian, meanwhile, gave her what he hoped was a stern but devastatingly handsome look of displeasure.

At least they didn’t have to wait long. Dusk came early to the Storm Coast at this time of year, and in no time at all, Ellana was rubbing dirt on her face and slipping off into the trees, only to reappear at the entrance, pausing to listen before she darted inside.

“She’d better come back,” Dorian growled, grinding the blade of his staff into the sand. “I don’t want to be the one to tell the Inquisitor we were out here twiddling our thumbs while his baby sister went it alone.”

“She is not a baby,” Cassandra said. “She is a capable adult, and she must be allowed to use her skills to help her brother. Otherwise, she will do something truly reckless.”

“You’re right, of course, but I can’t help worrying. If the world is already short one Lavellan…” His throat closed around the words.

“It is not,” Cassandra said firmly. “And even if that were the case, you cannot shield her from danger. If my time as a Seeker taught me anything, it is that trying blindly to protect something may only put it at greater risk.”

Well, _that_ was certainly true. Already, Dorian’s traitorous mind was doing the _what-if-I-hadn’t_ dance. What if he hadn’t refused to let Seth join him in Minrathous? Would they be lounging in the gardens right now, sipping tonics and enjoying Tarea’s spicy fish stew? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Half an hour went by, and then an hour. Dorian huddled deeper into his cloak, sea spray beading on the wool as the temperature dropped. The wind picked up, and the tide came in, waves crashing ever-higher against the cliffs. And then suddenly Ellana was right in front of him, blowing into her hands casually, as if she’d been standing there all along.

“You had us worried,” Cullen said. “You were gone a long time.”

“That place is a rabbit’s warren. Tunnels going every which way, half of them improvised.”

“Just as I remember it," Dorian said.

“I think it’s probably worse than when you were here last. Some of the tunnels look freshly excavated. That large cavern, the one that opens out to the sea, is basically one big rubble-clearing operation.”

“Did you see Red Templars?” Cassandra asked.

“There are men inside. Whether they’re templars or Promisers or something else, I couldn’t say. They weren’t wearing any heraldry or anything else that would identify them. But they’re armed. There are two posted in the entrance tunnel, there.” She pointed at just ahead. “They look tired, like they’ve been standing around for a long time.”

“Good,” Cullen said. “Tired guards are careless guards. What about the men inside the ruins? Did you get a sense of their numbers?”

“Nothing precise, but the place is pretty quiet. I heard voices coming from a room near the sea caves, and there’s a campsite at the port itself, but most of the bedrolls are empty. There are signs of a lot of coming and going, though, especially where they’re dumping the debris. My guess is the main operation is somewhere farther down those tunnels. If we wait until everyone’s asleep, it shouldn’t be too difficult to slip past.”

“But to where?” Dorian said. “We can’t very well go wandering aimlessly about hoping to stumble upon the right path. We’re liable to blunder into a cavern full of Promisers. _Don’t mind us, chaps. Must have made a wrong turn back at Highever. No, no, don’t get up, we’ll show ourselves out._ ”

Cassandra scowled. “Do you have an actual suggestion, Dorian?”

He drummed his fingers against his staff restlessly. “From what I recall, Daerwin’s Mouth was essentially a dead end. There were a number of chambers inside, but none of them led anywhere.”

Her brow cleared, and she nodded. “That is how I remember it as well.”

“Which means any path that leads to the Deep Roads would be new. Ellana, how good is your memory? Can you draw a map of the place?” He scraped a line in the wet sand with the blade of his staff, and Ellana nodded.

Crouching, she drew her knife and started to sketch. “Here’s the entrance tunnel. The guards are posted here and here.” She carved two Xs in the sand. “Then there’s the entrance to the ruins…” Dorian’s memory took shape along with the map, becoming clearer with each chamber Ellana drew. She was right – there were a number of paths he didn’t remember, leading to entire sections of the ruins they had never explored. Tunnel after tunnel ended in an uncertain squiggle. “These are the places I turned around and doubled back. I couldn’t say where those tunnels lead.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes, considering the sketch. “This is the port itself, yes? And these are the sea caves where you say they’re dumping the rubble?"

“Yes, good,” Cullen said. “Focusing on the logistics will narrow things down. With a heavy load, they’ll be going for efficiency. The easiest path from A to B. Which means we can probably rule out this entire section.”

“This tunnel here, heading south away from the port.” Dorian pointed with his staff. “It’s new.”

Ellana didn’t look convinced. “I’m not sure what you mean by _new_. This isn’t a tunnel so much as a road. It’s paved and everything, with huge pillars on either side. It’s obviously ancient.”

Dorian frowned. “I don’t recall seeing any—”

“Yes!” Cassandra’s dark eyebrows flew up. “When we came across this bridge, this whole section was caved in. Blocked with rubble. The Promisers could have cleared it.”

“An ancient dwarven road leading from the port deeper into the mountain?” Dorian inclined his head, something approaching a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’d say we have our path. Now we just have to get there.”

“First things first,” Cullen said. “We need to deal with the guards in the tunnel up ahead, and quietly, before they can sound the alarm. Ellana, can you take one down at range before we engage?”

“One?” She flashed a familiar cheeky grin. “So little ambition, Commander. Sit tight, now. Back in a tick.”

Before anyone could argue, she’d slipped away again, stealing up to the entrance and pressing herself against the wall. She whistled softly, and when the first guard came to investigate, she grabbed him, throwing a hand over his mouth and dispatching him silently with her knife. She lowered him gently to the ground before swinging her bow down from her shoulder and slipping inside. A soft _twang_ sounded within, and a moment later, Ellana reappeared in the doorway, still grinning.

Dorian and the others exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure if I’m impressed or disturbed,” Cullen said.

“That makes two of us.” Dorian shook his head. “No wonder Seth took to his assassin training so readily. If that’s what they teach Dalish hunters, he was halfway there already.”

They dragged the bodies out of sight and headed farther up the beach, where they found the entrance to the ruins proper. “It’s all clear until we come out of that improvised tunnel to the sea caves,” Ellana said. “That’s where I heard the voices, in a room on the lower level. The door was closed, though, so I couldn’t see how many inside.”

“It does not matter,” Cassandra said. “They might have answers that we badly need. However many there are, we must risk it.”

Some risks, however, were not worth taking, and Dorian sighed as he realized what he had to do next. “Maggie.” He crouched in front of the wolf, and she wagged her tail uncertainly. “This is where we must part ways, my darling. It’s not safe for you in there.”

Her yellow eyes regarded him expectantly, waiting for an instruction she could actually understand.

Sighing again, he said, “Stay.” Maggie yipped and danced agitatedly, visibly distressed. “You’ll be fine,” Dorian said. “There’s plenty for you to hunt out here, and we’ll be back before you know it. Maybe you’ll even meet some new friends.”

Seth’s voice came back to him from another life. _Are you bargaining with my wolf?_

It was as ridiculous now as it had been then, and Dorian stood abruptly, angry with himself for reasons he couldn’t fully explain. “Stay,” he said roughly, and turned away.

He’d gone about ten steps when Maggie threw back her head and howled, a low, mournful sound that echoed in the hollow of Dorian’s breast. His step faltered briefly, but he didn’t dare waver; he kept walking, his face a mask of determination, and Ellana squeezed his arm in sympathy. She alone truly understood what was happening here. That once again, out of a desire to protect, Dorian was leaving his wolf without a pack. She alone understood how it broke his heart.

But it had to be done, and Dorian was no stranger to breaking his own heart. So he swallowed hard, gripped his staff, and stepped into Daerwin’s Mouth.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just taking a moment to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who's taken the time to drop a comment on this story. I appreciate it so very much. <3

“Daerwin’s Mouth,” Dorian muttered as they wormed their way through the caverns. “How in Andraste’s name did I end up back here? _Dorian, what’s your very favourite part of the Storm Coast? Why, it’s so hard to choose; I just adore the whole place to little pieces. But I’d have to go with that dank cave full of Red Templars. Unless of course you count the Deep Roads. So glad to have that to look forward to._ ”

“Dorian,” Cassandra hissed. “Be quiet.”

“Who was this Daerwin, and what was the state of his oral hygiene, if they named _this_ after him?”

“I’m warning you…”

“Perhaps they ought to have called it Daerwin’s Arse.”

Cassandra whirled around threateningly, and Dorian answered with an airily dismissive gesture. Evidently, his sparkling wit was interfering with her peaceful enjoyment of their surroundings. And really, what wasn’t to love? Walls slick with mildew. Unseen vermin skittering in the shadows. Foul-smelling water — Maker, let it be water — dripping from the ceiling, sliding down the backs of their necks. At least the red lyrium had been cleared out; the only pulsing this time came from the waves heaving against the mouth of the sea caves up ahead, growing louder as Dorian and the others made their way through the maze.

Soon they reached in the main cavern, and Dorian could see straightaway what Ellana meant about the rubble-clearing operation. Deep gouges in the stone floor testified to a heavy load being dragged – by some sort of beasts of burden, judging from the towering heaps of shit everywhere. Which, _of course_ , no one had bothered to clean up. For pity’s sake, the sea was _right there_. Was it too much trouble to shovel a little shit along with the rubble? “Honestly,” he tutted. “With the sanitation practices you have down here, it’s a wonder the entire south hasn’t been wiped out by cholera.”

“There,” Ellana whispered, pointing. “At the bottom of the stairs, between those two pillars. That’s the room I mentioned before. Except…” She frowned, peering out over the edge of the upper terrace. “It looks like the door is open now. And the torches have been doused.”

“But still smoking,” Cullen murmured. “They haven’t been gone long.”

“Be on your guard,” Cassandra whispered, and started down the stairs.

The room was thick with shadows, but there was enough ambient light from the ancient dwarven ruins to illuminate a figure seated inside. His head was slumped low as if he were sleeping, but the metallic smell of blood told a different story. Dorian cast a pale orb of light, and by its glow, inspected the body.

“Another dwarf,” Cassandra murmured. “Is he…?”

“Legion of the Dead,” Dorian confirmed, kneeling before the corpse. “Just like the other one. The body is still warm.”

“Looks like the Legion is making a nuisance of themselves with the Promisers,” Cullen said, sounding pleased.

“ _Hmm._ ” Dorian hovered the light over the dwarf’s arms. “I’m not so sure about that, Commander. Take a look.” He held the light closer. “His arms are bound behind his back.”

Cullen grunted. “That is odd. Why take him captive, unless—“

“They were looking for information,” Cassandra concluded grimly.

“Information they wanted very badly,” Dorian said. “He’s covered in bruises. And there’s blood all over his chin.”

Cassandra jammed a gauntleted finger into the dead man’s mouth. Ellana winced and Dorian made a disgusted sound, but she paid them no mind, prying the man’s jaws apart. “They have ripped out his teeth,” she reported matter-of-factly. Kneeling behind the chair, she added, “And his fingers are broken, too.”

Ellana made a soft sound of distress. “ _This_ is what they were doing in here? I was right outside that door! I could have—”

“Do not blame yourself,” Cassandra said. “You could not have known what was happening, and if you tried to intervene, they would most likely have killed you, too.”

“Besides,” Dorian said, inspecting the blackened fingers, “our friend has been here awhile, judging from the state of him. You probably couldn’t have done anything for him anyway, apart from ending his suffering.”

Cullen frowned, his features sketched in the sickly glow of the mage light. “Why torture a Legionnaire? They spend their entire lives in the Deep Roads. What sort of intelligence could they possibly have?”

“About darkspawn, perhaps?” Cassandra hazarded.

“Or about the Deep Roads themselves,” Dorian said. “Maybe they’re looking for a particular ruin. An ancient thaig with some sort of artifact, or…” He trailed off, a horrifying thought occurring to him. “Or an Old God? Do you suppose the Promisers are hoping to start another Blight? That could certainly end the world, especially with the Wardens in the sorry state they’re in.”

“But why would the Carta be helping them?” Cassandra shook her head, brow knit in bemusement. “They are smugglers and thieves, not madmen. What could they possibly gain from starting a Blight?”

A spark flared as Ellana lit a candle she’d found on the far side of the room. It sat on a table beside a piece of parchment, and she picked it up along with the note, squinting in the gloom. “ _Finn_ ,” she read by the flickering glow of the candle. “ _Change of plans. I regret we aren’t there to meet you, but we finally got a location out of this one. The Redeemer will be pleased. We are so close now, brother. Dispose of the dwarf and bring your shipment to Three Roads Camp. We’ll meet you there._ ” She glanced up. “The ink on this is barely dry.”

“They cannot have gone far,” Cassandra said. “Ellana, can you track them?”

“Over stone?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But if we assume they took the ancient road, maybe we can catch up.”

“And tail them straight to the man in charge,” Cullen said.

“ _The Redeemer._ ” Cassandra’s lip curled in contempt. “Malkar always did have delusions of grandeur.”

“Perhaps you should tell him so when we see him,” Dorian suggested.

“It will be my pleasure,” she growled, and headed for the door.

They retraced their steps back up the stairs, making for the charmingly rustic suspension bridge that led to the port itself. Dorian adored this little bridge. The way it swayed under their weight, creaking ominously with every step as the water swirled like black ichor below. Trifle disquieting, of course, but was it truly an adventure if you weren’t contemplating your own doom at every turn?

“We’ll be at the port soon,” Cassandra said as they regrouped on the far side of the bridge. “Ellana, you said the campsite looked half empty. How many men did you see?”

“About half a dozen. But if we’re careful, it should be easy enough to slip past them. The camp is far enough away from the bridge that it’s unlikely anyone would see us in the dark.”

Cullen made a sceptical sound. “I don’t like it. Leaving enemies at our back could cut off our retreat.”

“True,” Ellana said. “But the note made it sound like someone is due to arrive at the port with a new shipment. If we kill the men at the campsite, this Finn will know something is wrong. They might call for reinforcements, and then we’d be in real trouble.”

“She’s right,” Dorian said. “We’re better off sneaking.”

“Easy for you to say,” Cullen grumbled. “You’re not in full plate.”

Ellana looked him over. “You are a bit shiny. Is there some mud around here we can use to scuff you up a bit? Or…” An all-too-familiar glint of mischief came into her eyes. “Back at the sea caves, there were those piles of—”

“Very funny,” Cullen said, already moving.

In the event, sneaking past the port was even easier than Dorian had dared to hope. Between the roar of the waves and the perpetual veil of mist they generated, there was plenty of cover. Even with a backdrop of moonlight, the figures moving around the camp were little more than shadows, and no one took any notice of the interlopers heading south along the ancient dwarven road.

They kept to the shadows, avoiding the main thoroughfare by walking between the pillars and the walls whenever possible, their voices pitched low lest they stumble upon their quarry sooner than expected.

“So,” Dorian said conversationally, “do we care to speculate what’s in the shipment this Finn is accompanying? Red lyrium, perhaps? It’s still far easier to source on the surface.”

“It could be anything,” Cullen said. “Food. Weapons. Even water, if they don’t…” He trailed off as a strange noise sounded up ahead. Drawing his sword, he slipped behind a pillar, motioning for the others to do the same.

Dorian pressed his back to the cold stone and listened. Something was coming this way, and it definitely wasn’t human. Heavy breathing echoed off the stone in short, distressed-sounding _whuffs_. Whatever this thing was, it was angry, and from the sounds of it, really rather _large_. He glanced at the others, and found Ellana looking puzzled. “Is that…?” she whispered. “It sounds like a bear.”

“Impossible.” Dorian peeked around the pillar.

It was a bear.

“All right, it was at least _improbable_.”

They all held their breath, but it was a waste of time; if it hadn’t heard them already, the bear could easily smell them in these confined quarters, and it let out a roar that shook the tunnel. Dorian threw a barrier over his allies just as the creature started galloping toward them, its claws scraping noisily against the stone.

His first thought when he stepped out from behind the pillar was that he’d made a mistake. This wasn’t a bear. It was some horrid Deep Roads thing he’d never seen before. The fangs were too long. The fur too mottled. It was literally foaming at the mouth. Oh, and the _smell_ – like decay and pestilence and a slow, agonizing death. It smelled, in other words, like darkspawn.

“It’s tainted!” Cassandra cried, hunkering behind her shield as she prepared to meet the animal’s charge. “Be careful – it will put up a fight!”

That was all the advice she had time for before the creature crashed into her bodily, throwing her to the ground and all but trampling over her in its rage, its eyes fixed on Cullen next. Dorian threw ice and Ellana loosed an arrow, but the blight bear didn’t even blink, lashing out at Cullen with a paw the size of a supper plate. It took him in the shoulder, sending him staggering to one knee; thankfully, his barrier bore the brunt of the blow. Ellana loosed another arrow, and another; they lodged deep in the bear’s hide, but it barely seemed to notice, too intent on eviscerating the shiny creatures bashing it with pointy things. Its movements were slowed thanks to Dorian’s ice, but that wouldn’t last long, and he didn’t dare sling fire with his allies grappling at such close quarters.

“We need to get behind it!” Cassandra shouted, throwing up her shield to block a swipe of the creature’s paw.

“I’m trying,” Cullen growled through clenched teeth. But the bear kept them firmly in its sights, pivoting with surprising dexterity and thwarting their attempts to outflank it. They couldn’t even get close enough to land a proper blow, doing little more than hiding behind their shields while they waited for an opportunity.

 _We need a distraction._ Something to draw the creature’s attention while the warriors attacked from behind. Dorian’s mind raced through his repertoire of spells, but nothing sprang to mind.

Ellana, meanwhile, thought she had a solution. She drew her bow again, and this time, she waited for her moment, letting fly with an arrow that lodged in the creature’s eye. Which probably seemed like a good idea, but _really_ wasn’t, because now the thing was even angrier, and it didn’t need to be especially accurate in these close quarters. With a reach like that, it could lash out blindly and still catch a shiny thing on its claws – which is exactly what it did, sending Cullen flying against the wall in a clattering heap. It reared up and _roared_ , spittle flying everywhere, and then it charged, ignoring a glancing blow from Cassandra’s blade as it passed.

Dorian compressed the air as fast as he could, forming ice crystals around the creature’s limbs, but it was a single stride away from Cullen’s prone form. It reared up again – and then another beast leapt in front of it, snarling and snapping so viciously that the startled bear dropped back to all fours and retreated a step. Maggie’s fur stood straight on end, bristling down her back like quillback spines, and her fangs flashed blood-red in the angry glow of the dwarven ruins. She looked bloody _terrifying_ – and also like a two hundred-pound wolf facing down a thousand-pound blight bear.

“ _No!_ ” Dorian cried in horror. “ _Maggie, don’t bite!_ ”

Whether the wolf heard him or not, he couldn’t say, but she backed away from the blight bear, still baying viciously, keeping its malevolent gaze firmly on her.

Which was exactly the distraction Cassandra needed. She flanked the creature and lunged, driving her blade into the bear’s hide just behind the shoulder, at an angle aimed to pierce its heart. It roared in pain and staggered, wrenching Cassandra’s sword from her grasp as it whirled around. But it was mortally wounded, its limbs clumsy with ice, and she evaded its blundering swipe with ease. Now its back was to Cullen, and he took full advantage, plunging his blade deep. Dorian did the final honours, lighting it up with a shock of electricity that was too much for its dying heart; the bear twitched, gasped, and slumped to the floor.

For a moment they all just sagged over themselves, recovering their breath. Then Dorian said, “ _BAD DOG._ ”

Maggie whined.

“I distinctly recall telling you to _stay_ , you stupid wolf. Why are you here?”

Maggie flattened her ears and tucked her tail, and when that didn’t do the trick, she rolled onto her back and showed her belly.

“Shameless,” Dorian growled, trying and failing to hold onto his anger. “Have some dignity, for pity’s sake.”

Cullen crouched and rubbed her belly, to Maggie’s obvious delight. “Thanks for that, old girl.”

Dorian _tsk_ ed. “What happened to chain of command? You’re undermining my authority.”

“True enough,” Cullen said, utterly unperturbed.

Cassandra sighed. “What will we do with her now? If we send her back, there is a good chance she will be spotted. Assuming she hasn’t been already.”

“If anyone saw her, I think we’d know about it by now.” Cullen glanced back the way they’d come, which was still thankfully deserted.

Dorian swore under his breath. “I don’t see that we have much choice. We’ll just have to keep her away from darkspawn and any other blighted creatures we come across.”

Cassandra shook her head as she looked over the dead bear. “It must have come into contact with darkspawn. But how did it get down here in the first place?”

“I think I might have an idea,” Ellana called. She’d drifted over to a broken-down wagon that stood abandoned at the side of the road. Its shape was all too familiar, with an iron cage mounted on the back, just like the ones the Red Templars had used in Emprise du Lion.

“That’s too small for a bear,” Dorian said, a cold feeling settling into the pit of his stomach.

“I suppose you’re right. And look here.” She held up a rusted manacle, its chain attached to the side of the wagon.

Dorian sighed. “I suppose we can guess what’s in that shipment, then.”

“Slaves,” Cassandra said grimly. “So that’s what the Carta is smuggling.”

“One of the things, at any rate.” Dorian stroked Maggie’s fur absently, his brows knit in thought. “But what for? Mining?”

“Even if that were the case,” Cullen said, “it still doesn’t explain the bear. What in the Maker is going on down here?”

There was only one way to find out. Sighing, Dorian said, “Onward.”


	16. Chapter 16

“You’ve picked a fine time to develop a rebellious streak,” Dorian growled, shooting an irritated glance at the shaggy black beast at his side. Maggie trotted along happily, as though they were out for a stroll around the villa instead of crawling through the darkspawn-infested bowels of the earth. “What am I going to tell your master, _hmm_? He’s going to kill us both, you know.”

“He’ll understand,” Ellana said. “I have a feeling he knew she might do this. That’s probably why he left her in the Emerald Graves instead of just setting her loose outside the ruins like we did.”

“Either way,” Cassandra said, “since she is here now, let us put her to good use. She can scout ahead and warn us of any danger.”

“She can do better than that.” Kneeling, Dorian looked the wolf in the eye. “Maggie. _Venas alin. Venas tarlin._ ”

The wolf bounded away, a black shadow hurtling into black shadow until she was nothing more than a soft staccato of claws on stone.

“Yes.” Ellana swallowed hard and nodded. “She’ll find him. She’ll show us the way.”

“You asked her to track the Inquisitor?” Cullen cast a sceptical look at their surroundings. “Will she be able to pick up his scent down here? The whole place reeks of darkspawn.”

“I suppose it depends on how old the scent is. In the meantime, I’ve asked her to track strangers as well. Chances are, everyone we’re looking for is in one place.” _Assuming they’re still alive._ He didn’t say that last part aloud. No one needed to hear it, least of all him.

“We should search for this Three Roads camp,” Cassandra said. “The men who left that note were in a hurry to report back to the Redeemer, but they also instructed their brethren to meet them at the Three Roads camp. That could mean Malkar is there.”

“And it might give us a chance to free the slaves,” Ellana added. “Assuming that’s what’s in the shipment.”

“ _Hmm._ ” Dorian narrowed his eyes in thought. “That could be an opportunity. If we make it look as though the slaves escaped on their own, the Promisers will be distracted rounding them up.”

Ellana frowned. “And what if they succeed? You would use those poor people as a decoy?”

Dorian met her gaze evenly. “If the Promisers succeed in whatever it is they’re plotting, we’ll have bigger problems than a cage full of slaves. Everyone will suffer, those poor people included.”

“He’s right,” Cullen said. “We should help them if we can, but our priority has to be Malkar.”

“Agreed,” said Cassandra. “He must be stopped at all costs.”

Ellana didn’t look convinced. Her glance cut between them, dark brows knitted, mouth pressed into a thin line. Dorian knew that look well. How many times had they had a version of this conversation with the Inquisitor? It had taken Seth a long time – and a great deal of heartache – to reach a place where he made hard decisions without hesitation. They never stopped hurting him, but such were the burdens of command, and he learned to shoulder them, however reluctantly.

“In the meantime,” Cullen said, “we should find a place to camp for the night. It’s been a very long day, and”—he winced, rolling his shoulder—“I confess that little tussle took the wind out of me. I could use the rest.”

Dorian arched an eyebrow. “Rest? You? Why, Commander, don’t tell me you’re getting _old_.”

Cullen chuckled. “Older, yes, and wiser too. The Inquisitor used to get after me for pushing myself too hard, and I’ve come to realize he was right. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

“Hopefully not too much of a marathon.” Dorian muttered. “I’m exhausted already.”

They found a quiet little nook off the main road and unloaded their packs. Dorian’s bedroll was covered in dust from when he’d dropped it to fight the bear, and he made more noise than was probably wise giving it a good beating. But with Maggie scouting ahead, he was less concerned about someone falling upon them without warning. Once they were set up, he whistled softly, and a few moments later the wolf appeared out of the shadows. You couldn’t ask for a better sentry than a keen-eared canine, and Dorian was forced to admit that having her here was extremely useful. That didn’t mean he was happy about it. He couldn’t help imagining the sorts of awful things that could befall her in this place, and the thought made him physically ill.

“She’ll be all right,” Ellana said, guessing his thoughts. She’d set up her bedroll next to his, and she sat cross-legged with the contents of her quiver spread out before her, selecting the best shafts for quick access.

“It’s absurd, isn’t it?” Dorian tugged on Maggie’s ears affectionately. “So many people I care about down here, in mortal danger, and here I am fretting about a wolf.”

“I understand. She’s a piece of him. The only piece you have right now.”

“Not quite.” He met those familiar eyes. “You remind me so much of him, Ellana,” he said softly.

“I know.” She dropped her gaze. “It’s the same for me, in a way. Your being here is a constant reminder that he isn’t. It’s… hard.”

A gloomy silence settled over them. Dorian sent Maggie off to stand guard. Then he rooted around his pack for something to eat, coming up with a strip of dried meat that would have to serve as supper. “So,” he said with forced levity. “How long, do we think, until we start eating nug?”

“That will be far less amusing in a few days’ time,” Cassandra said. “When we are actually eating nug.”

“A pity that bear was blighted.” Ellana glanced back the way they’d come. “It could have fed us for days.” When Dorian pulled a face, she gave him a surprised look. “What, have you never eaten bear?”

“Certainly not. What a thoroughly disgusting notion.”

“This from a man who considers mould a delicacy.”

“Mould?” Cullen echoed quizzically.

“She means cheese. Really, it’s best not to engage with the savages on this sort of thing.”

Cullen snorted. “You think Fereldans are savages.”

“True enough.”

Ellana shook her head, a wry smile threatening one corner of her mouth. “Is he always this ridiculous?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said, curling up under her blankets. “And your brother never hesitated to tell him so.”

“Nonsense.” Dorian followed her lead, burrowing into his own bedroll and quietly congratulating himself for having lightened the mood. “Seth would never say such a thing. He was enamored of me in all ways, at all times.”

“I am not talking to you anymore, Dorian. I’m sleeping. See?”

“We should all do the same,” Cullen said, smoothing out his own bedroll. “Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

* * *

“Dorian.” Seth sighs. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” Dorian covers his nose with his sleeve, scowling at the sweaty Qunari walking a few dozen paces ahead. “It’s a matter of hygiene, and therefore of health, not to mention morale.”

The elf cuts him a sidelong glance. “Whose morale?”

“ _Mine_ , obviously. You can’t expect me to perform at my best under these conditions. It’s simply intolerable.”

“I’m not ordering Bull to bathe. It’s beyond my remit.”

“You ordered Sera to stop nicking things.”

“That’s completely…” Seth growls and rubs his eyes. “Enough, already. Just pick up the pace, will you? We’ve fallen behind.”

“Downwind, you mean,” Dorian mutters, but he does as he’s told, quickening his step to catch up to the others, who are almost at the crossroads.

“Rider coming this way,” Bull calls, loosening the maul at his back. “Looks like he’s in a hurry.”

They step off the road, leaving plenty of space for the rider to pass, but the man does a double-take at Seth’s silver hair and reins in hard, his horse skidding to a halt and gouging deep troughs in the dirt. “Inquisitor!” he says breathlessly. “You are the Inquisitor, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Seth’s expression is perfectly serene, but his lithe frame is tensed and ready.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” The man nearly sobs in relief. “Please, Your Worship, I beg you. Our village, it’s under attack. Bandits. They’ve been swooping down from the hills night after night, raiding our homes, taking everything they can carry. First it was the coin. Then the chickens and goats. Now they’re saying if we don’t give them our grain, they’ll burn the village to the ground. We need those stores to survive the winter. Please, Inquisitor, help us!”

“Your village is that way?” Solas gestures with his staff.

“Aye. Not twenty miles.”

Solas puts his back to the man and meets the Inquisitor’s eye. “Twenty miles in the opposite direction from our destination,” he says softly. “A day’s walk each way.”

“For you, maybe,” the Qunari says. “The boss and I could do it in half that. Probably take these bandits on our own, too.”

“We’re not splitting up.” Seth takes a few steps away from the rider so they can confer in private; Dorian can see the gears turning in his head as he considers his alternatives.

“I hate to say it,” Dorian murmurs, “but Solas may be right. That rift is spitting out more demons with every hour that passes. The longer it takes us to get there, the harder it will be to clean up the mess. And who knows how many lives might be lost in the meantime.”

“Nobody knows,” Seth replies in an undertone. “Whereas we know for certain that lives will be lost in that village if we don’t help.”

“We cannot prevent every act of lawlessness in Ferelden,” Solas points out. “It is unfortunate, but our priority must be stopping Corypheus and restoring the Veil.”

“I don’t need to be reminded of our priorities,” Seth says coolly. “I carry a constant reminder right here.” He raises his left hand; even at this distance from the rift, the anchor glows a soft, sickly green.

Solas inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed you do, Inquisitor, and it is a terrible burden to bear. I would not wish it on anyone. But like it or not, it is your responsibility, whereas these bandits are not. Let the villagers seek aid from their arl. Redcliffe is not so very far.”

Seth glances away, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He shakes his head, and Dorian is sure he’s about to turn the man away. Instead, keeping his voice low, he says, “Our priority is indeed Corypheus. But Corypheus is not at the end of that road, and even if he were, we can’t defeat him alone. We need allies and recruits, and for that, we need influence. If we turn our backs on this village, everyone will hear of it. What will they say about the Inquisition then? What good are we if we don’t help ordinary people? If we are indifferent to them, they will be indifferent to us. And then, when it’s our turn to call for aid, who will answer?”

There’s a stretch of silence. Solas leans on his staff, brows drawn together in thought, his sharp eyes fixed on the Inquisitor. “Perhaps you’re right,” he says at length. “There is wisdom in looking to the reputation of the Inquisition.”

 _Why, thank you, Solas_ , Dorian thinks sourly. _So glad you approve. Positively makes his day, I’m sure._

Seth, for his part, just nods and walks back to the rider. “We’ll return with you to your village. But I must ask something in return. We are pressed for time, and our horses were killed in a skirmish with demons. Loan us some of yours, and if you accompany us, you can lead them home once we’ve reached our destination.”

“Of course! Oh, thank you, Your Worship, thank you!”

“So,” Dorian murmurs a few minutes later, when the others are out of earshot. “What you told Solas back there. Do you really believe that, or were you just rationalizing to appease him?”

“As Varric would say, a little of Column A, a little of Column B.”

“Why do you bother? You could have just told him to go stuff himself. You are the Inquisitor, after all.”

Seth snorts softly. “Always the diplomat,” he says with a wry smile. He glances ahead to make sure no one is looking, then tugs Dorian close and brushes his lips with a quick kiss. “Now hurry up. It’s time to go.”

* * *

“Hurry up, Dorian,” Cassandra said, already rolling up her bedroll. “We must get started.”

“The darkspawn don’t care how pretty you are,” Cullen added.

Dorian ignored them both. As long as they still had access to water, he was going to wash and shave and do his best not to look like a bloody barbarian, and they would just have to deal with it. He rinsed his razor, patted his face dry, and emptied the portable basin he’d brought along. It was a clever thing, that basin, acquired during his Inquisition days. Dalish, of course. Fashioned from the bladder of a druffalo, it weighed almost nothing and could be rolled up and stashed away in a small pouch. Wonderfully resourceful, those Dalish. None more so than the man he’d almost married, as last night’s dream had reminded him.

He’d been musing over it since he opened his eyes. Yesterday, he’d thought only of the times Seth had made the hard choice. But the dream had reminded him that just as often, the elf had found another way, a compromise the rest of them didn’t see, or thought too difficult to pull off. Would he have agreed with Dorian about using the slaves as a decoy? Or would he have found a better way? A question worth considering, at any rate.

“Are you all right?” Ellana asked.

Dorian glanced up, but the question wasn’t directed at him. Cullen was grimacing as he worked his shoulder, his movements obviously stiff. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a little banged up from yesterday.”

“You hit that wall pretty hard.”

“I did,” he chuckled. “It seems to have jammed my shoulder. I really am getting old.”

“I have a poultice that might help,” Ellana said, rummaging in her pack. “Where did I…? Ah. Here it is. If you take your tunic off, I can apply it for you.”

Cullen froze like a rabbit. Strip to the waist in front of a female? _Scandalous._ “It’s fine, thank you,” he said, colouring slightly.

“It’s not fine. That’s your swordarm. It needs to be limber, and you can hardly put this on yourself."

“I’ll do it,” Dorian purred with a wicked smile.

Cullen gave him a sour look.

“This is ridiculous,” Cassandra said. “We are in the Deep Roads, Commander. There is no room for modesty.”

Outnumbered, Cullen had no choice but to remove his shirt. Cassandra returned her attention to packing up, but there was no way Dorian was going to miss this. He propped himself against the wall and prepared to enjoy the show.

“That’s an ugly bruise,” Ellana reported, already massaging the poultice into Cullen’s shoulder blade. Her tone was all business, but Dorian didn’t miss the way her glance skimmed over that well-muscled back. Who could blame her?

Cullen, meanwhile, was covered in goosebumps as those lovely female fingers did their work. Oh, this was _too delicious._ Dorian only wished he had some grapes to pop into his mouth while he watched. “That tingles,” Cullen said with a nervous laugh. “It almost feels warm, actually.”

“Nice, isn’t it? It’ll loosen you up right away.”

“It’s working already.” Cullen rolled his shoulder. “Amazing. Is it Dalish?”

“Of course. An ancient secret passed down from the days of Arlathan. I made it myself, with berries and tree bark.”

“Really?”

She snorted. “I bought it in Kirkwall. I have no idea what’s in it.”

Cullen laughed. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?” He turned and met her eye, and they smiled at each other for entirely too long before Ellana went about her business.

Well, that settled it. The good commander was definitely smitten. Poor lamb. He’d have no idea that Ellana was betrothed, of course. _Welcome to my world, Cullen_ , Dorian thought wryly. _It will be good to have someone to commiserate with. We can drink and pine over Lavellans while they do their duty, marry a stranger and make ridiculously beautiful babies with pointy ears and unimpeachable morals._

They finished packing up and headed out, Maggie scouting ahead while they followed the ancient road deeper underground. It wasn’t long before they came upon another set of ruins, and Maggie soon returned to them with a soft _whuff_ of warning. Someone was ahead.

“I’ll take a look,” Ellana whispered, slipping away before anyone could argue. She was gone only a few moments, and when she came back, she was white as a sheet. “There’s a dungeon in there,” she said, pointing at a door to the west. “I didn’t get a good look, but the prisoners seem to be in pretty rough shape.”

“Guards?” Cassandra asked.

Ellana shook her head. “But there are plenty of armed men about. You can hear their voices.”

“One thing at a time,” Cullen said. “Can we free the prisoners without being seen?”

“We can try,” Ellana said, inclining her head for them to follow.

The smell inside the dungeon was almost enough to make Dorian retch, a pestilent _eau de mis_ _è_ _re_ made up of blood and urine and feces and disease. As for the prisoners, _pretty rough shape_ didn’t quite cover it. They were unwashed, emaciated, and covered in bandages, most of them too listless even to register the presence of strangers. An elven woman with dull green eyes watched them cross the room, and Ellana held a finger to her lips. “We’re here to help,” she whispered, already kneeling in front of the lock.

The woman received this news impassively, as if hope was a thing too foreign to contemplate. “You should run,” she said. “The things they’ll do to you…”

“Hush,” Ellana said. “We’ll get you out.”

“It doesn’t matter. There are so many of them. So many…”

Cullen swore under his breath. “This is madness. How could the Inquisitor walk into this without a single warrior at his side?”

“He didn’t.” A prisoner with his back to the bars stirred. He turned around, his features hollowed but familiar, and Dorian sighed.

“Hello, Thom.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the lovely comments! You guys are keeping me on a ROLL.

“Rainier?” Cassandra breathed in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

Dorian cast a pitying glance over the man they’d once known as Blackwall. What was left of him, at any rate; the ragged creature slumped against the bars bore little resemblance to the hardy slab of meat Dorian remembered. He’d lost at least a stone, leaving his features sharp and cavernous, framed by a matted snarl of beard streaked with grey. His skin was so sickly pale that Dorian could see the veins in his forehead, and a fresh-looking scar cut an angry red path across his left eyebrow. He was bandaged like the other prisoners, filthy grey rags wrapping his left arm from wrist to shoulder. But his eyes were bright and lucid as he said, “There’s no time. They could be back at any moment.”

“We’re getting you out of here,” Ellana said, still working at the lock. “All of you.”

“If you do that, the Promisers will know you’re down here, and they’ll come looking. We’re not important. You have to find the Inquisitor.”

“He’s alive?” Dorian dropped to a crouch and grabbed the bars. “Thom, please – is he all right?” He heard the desperation in his own voice, but he didn’t care. Pride had no place here.

Rainier met his glance. “I don’t know. But he was alive when I last saw him. Which means there’s a chance.”

“He wouldn’t want us to leave you here,” Ellana said firmly. A moment later, the lock _clicked_ , and the door swung open on squealing hinges.

Rainier hesitated, his still-considerable bulk blocking the door. “But the Promisers—”

Ellana drew her knife and set upon the lock, scoring and scratching it until the blade was hopelessly bent. “There,” she said, tossing the ruined weapon to the floor of the cell. “You escaped yourselves. Let them puzzle over how you got the knife. Can we go now?”

“Where?” Cullen asked. “There’s no place to hide down here.”

“You’d be surprised, Commander.” Turning to his fellow prisoners, Rainier said, “This is where we part ways, men.”

“But, ser,” one of them protested. “We can’t let you go on alone.”

Rainier shook his head with an air of finality. “You’ve done your part and then some. I won’t ask you to give more. Fara, do you remember the cave where we buried the weapons on the way here?”

The elven woman with the green eyes nodded.

“It’s not far. If you help each other, you can make it. Rest there. Gather your strength. Then make for Daerwin’s Mouth. You’ll face resistance, but I know you’re up to it. Maker be with you, Wardens.”

“And with you, ser,” the woman said. “Put an end to these bastards. For all of us.”

Rainier rose from his crouch, took a purposeful stride through the cell door – and promptly buckled. If Cullen hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have collapsed.

 _Maker’s breath, what have they done to him?_ Rage simmered in the pit of Dorian’s stomach, fuelled by a dark mass of fear. If this was what had become of a hale specimen like Thom Rainier… A memory flashed before him, so sudden and vivid that it took his breath away. Dark skin on light, his own hands gliding over his lover’s bare torso as Seth sat astride him, dragon bone amulet dangling from his neck. _Trim waist, slender but sculpted, a slip of a thing, how is he so strong?_ It was as if Cole were there, whispering in his ear, conjuring something beautiful at a moment when it could bring only pain. What would become of a slight frame like that under the care of the Promisers? Dorian shuddered, banishing the image with a shake of his head.

“What now?” Cassandra asked, slipping an arm under Rainier’s.

“We go deeper,” Rainier said. “There’s a passage to the right. It’ll take us outside the ruins. But we need to hurry. They’ll be coming for the morning bleeding soon.”

Cassandra gave him a look of horror. “The what?”

Dorian swore viciously in Tevene, and for a moment everything in his sight was the colour of blood. _Andraste as my witness, if they’ve touched him…_

“Through here.” Leaning on Cassandra for support, Rainier led them into a narrow passageway that cut deeper underground. There were no torches here, only the eerie red glow of ancient dwarven craft. That, and a familiar stench. “Stay alert,” Rainier warned them. “These tunnels are crawling with darkspawn and blighted creatures.”

“Blighted creatures,” Dorian echoed. “Like the bear that attacked us yesterday?”

Rainier actually chucked at that. “So you met Walter, did you? I’ll bet he put up a fight.”

“Walter?” Ellana glanced at him, baffled.

“Just something to pass the time. We gave all the animals names, when we were being kept in the same place.”

“Explain yourself,” Cassandra snapped. “What is happening here? Where is the Inquisitor?”

“I’ll tell you what I know, Your Holiness, but I don’t have all the answers. Not by a long way.” He drew up and leaned against the wall, already out of breath. “Maker’s balls. Can’t believe how weak I’ve become. Just give me a moment.”

“Are you in pain?” Dorian asked quietly, handing Rainier his waterskin. “I can help with that.”

“No, thank you. Just a bit lightheaded. It’ll pass.”

Dorian looked him over again, feeling a little ill himself. “What have they done to you, Thom? What did you mean before, about bleeding?”

Rainier sighed. “Where to start? At the beginning, I suppose.” He took a swallow of water and passed it back. “The Wardens got word of a darkspawn infestation along the coast. My unit was dispatched to deal with it. We didn’t think much of it at first. This area’s had incursions before. But when we arrived, we found more of the blighters than we expected. The forest was overrun with them. Couldn’t work out where they were coming from. We split up into three teams to cover more ground. That’s when my team ran across the Inquisitor.”

Dorian’s grip tightened on his staff, but he forced himself to keep calm. “When was this?”

“Hard to keep track of time underground. Six weeks? Maybe a little more? Varric was with him, and Sera. They said they were investigating something on your behalf, Your Holiness.”

“That is so. They were tracking Aerion Malkar and the Order of Fiery Promise.”

Rainier pushed himself away from the wall. “We should keep moving.” Accepting Cassandra’s help once more, he shuffled down a short flight of steps and resumed his tale. “The Inquisitor had a theory, that the Carta was using the old port at Daerwin’s Mouth to smuggle red lyrium into the Deep Roads. That explained the darkspawn. We agreed to join forces, see what we could find.” He sighed and shook his head. “What we found was a bloody mess. We’d barely set foot inside when we overheard some of the Promisers bragging about capturing a team of Grey Wardens. They were ecstatic about it. Said someone called the Redeemer would reward them. That’s when we realized we’d been duped.”

“The darkspawn,” Dorian said softly. “It was a trap.”

Rainier nodded grimly. “They’d set the blighters loose in the forest with the sole purpose of luring Grey Wardens. And we’d walked right into it.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes. An idea had begun to swim to the surface of his brain, and though he couldn’t see it clearly yet, he had a rough idea of its shape. “They wanted your blood. For some sort of experiment, I suppose?”

“Right again.” Rainier glanced over his shoulder. “A shame you weren’t with us, Dorian. We could have used your brain. Maybe we would have spotted Malkar’s trap before it was too late.”

“What sort of experiment?” Cullen asked, aghast.

“Malkar is trying to work out how to cure the Blight.”

Cullen blinked in surprise. “Is that even possible?”

“You’re asking the wrong man, Commander. All I know is that Malkar found the research of an intelligent darkspawn called the Architect, and he thinks the key is in Grey Warden blood.”

“That’s not all he’s up to, though, is it?” Dorian said. “The blight bear – Malkar’s doing, I take it? He’s… what? Looking for test subjects to cure?”

“Not only that. He’s researching red lyrium, too. Exposing anything and everything he can get his hands on. Animals. Humans. Elves and dwarves. Even Qunari. Studying how they react. What they become.”

“Oh gods.” Ellana brought a hand to her stomach. “The prisoners… They’re not slaves, they’re…”

“Rats in a laboratory,” Rainier said. He was giving Ellana a funny look, as though he wanted to ask a few questions of his own but didn’t think it was the time. “Exposed to the Taint or red lyrium, as it takes Malkar’s fancy. Injected with it, or force-fed, or just left to rot in a cage filled with the stuff. I even saw them turn red lyrium into a mist and force a woman to inhale it. They’re looking at it from every foul angle you can think of. The subjects are studied and catalogued, and when they die, the Carta brings him a fresh batch of prisoners and it all begins again.”

Cassandra made a sound of raw fury. “It’s monstrous!”

“It is,” Rainier said. “And it’s been going on for months. Whatever Malkar is planning, he’s been meticulous about it. He’s spent the past few years training new Seekers. Only he corrupts them with red lyrium, the way Corypheus did with the templars.”

She scowled. “That makes no sense. The Seekers were strongly resistant to the effects of red lyrium. Even more so than templars. It is why Corypheus was unable to use them to his purpose.”

“But if Malkar succeeded where Corypheus failed…” Cullen mused. “Ordinary templars are resistant too, to a degree. That’s what enables them to survive the corruption, and when they do, they become incredibly powerful. How much more powerful would a corrupted Seeker become?”

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Rainier said. “I watched one of them melt the flesh off a man’s bones with a blast of lyrium energy. I’ve never heard anyone scream like that.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how Malkar’s done it, but he has. He calls them the Anointed, and they’re worse than anything we fought during the Inquisition.”

Dorian couldn’t stand it anymore. “This is all just _wonderful_ news, Thom, extremely uplifting, but could we get back to the Inquisitor, please? How did you get separated?”

“In a fight. We mounted a raid on the abandoned thaig where the Promisers were holed up. My men and I, plus the Inquisitor, Varric, and Sera. It took us a while to track them down, but when we did, we were confident we could take it. Set the prisoners free, at least. But we’d never faced the Anointed before. Things got ugly, fast. I was knocked out. When I woke up, I was in a cage along with the rest of the Wardens. Varric was in a separate cell, along with some dwarves the Carta had smuggled in from Dust Town. He told me he’d seen Sera and some other elves being taken away in a prison wagon. He didn’t see the Inquisitor, but he couldn’t be sure. We were together in that prison, Varric and I, for about a week. Then they took the dwarves away, and that’s the last time I saw any of them.”

Cullen sighed. “They decided not to keep all their eggs in one basket after the attack.”

Rainier nodded. “Especially with the darkspawn mounting attacks every few days. The Promisers are getting more than they bargained for on that front, that’s for sure. That’s how the animals escaped, or so I heard. The darkspawn attacked that research site a few days ago, set everything loose.”

Dorian was barely listening anymore, a single sentence echoing over and over in his mind.

_He didn’t see the Inquisitor, but he couldn’t be sure._

Seth might have been captured, or not. He might be alive, or not. “How long?” Dorian asked, forcing the words past a dry throat.

“Since we were taken captive?” Rainier shook his head. “Like I said, it’s hard to keep track of time down here. At least a month, probably more.”

A month since Seth had last been seen. A month of being tortured and experimented on. Or, if they hadn’t captured him, a month of roaming these fetid tunnels alone, in Maker-only-knew what condition, surrounded by darkspawn and Promisers and blighted creatures of all shapes and sizes. Dorian’s head swam; for a moment he thought he might actually be sick.

Maggie stopped suddenly and let out a low growl, her ears pricked forward. Everyone froze, and a few moments later, they heard voices. Ellana pressed herself against the wall and peered into the darkness ahead. “Promisers,” she whispered. “Three of them. We should—”

Dorian stepped around the corner and set them on fire.

Not the wisest manoeuvre, perhaps, and certainly not the sneakiest. Later, with the benefit of a cooler head, he would admit that it might even have been a touch _rash_. But in that moment, with fear for Seth seeping through his veins like poison, all Dorian wanted was for someone to pay. So he set Malkar’s men on fire, and he watched them thrash and scream, and when they collapsed in a heap of smoking flesh, he felt a tiny little bit better.

Cullen gave him an annoyed look. “So much for not letting them know we’re down here.”

Rainier chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about that. There’s a chasm just ahead. Bottomless pit. We can throw them over the edge and no one will ever know.”

“Except the deepstalkers, one hopes,” Dorian snarled, grabbing one of the dead men by the ankles and dragging him through the dust.

He was sweating with exertion by the time they reached the chasm, but he wasn’t too tired to enjoy the sight of Aerion Malkar’s depraved acolytes tumbling over the edge of the world and disappearing into darkness, falling such a long way that the clatter of armour on stone was scarcely audible.

“There’s another ruin just ahead,” Rainier said. “An outpost of some sort between thaigs. Good place to make camp. Four walls and a narrow door. Easy to defend.”

Dorian started to protest that it was too soon to settle in again, but one look at Rainier’s ashen features stole the words. The poor man needed food and water and rest. So they followed his lead, and soon they’d made camp in what looked like it had once been a barracks of sorts. Dorian set ice mines around the door and slumped against a wall, the blood still roaring in his ears.

He was dimly aware of the conversation going on around him.

“I pray to the Maker our friends are still alive, and whole.”

“I still can’t work out what Malkar is up to. Is he planning to poison everyone in the world?”

“Or create an army of monstrous creatures, perhaps? With these Anointed as their commanders?”

“Then there’s the tortured Legionnaire we found. How does he come into it?”

The words skipped across Dorian’s consciousness like smooth rocks over the surface of a pond, causing scarcely a ripple. His mind was in another place, another time. _Dark skin on light, hands roaming, passing feather-light over his body. Sunlight frames his laughing face, glinting through silver hair…_

Warm fingers threaded through his. Ellana was sitting on the floor beside him. Dorian hadn’t even registered her approach. She didn’t say anything; she just squeezed his hand and stared straight ahead.

Dorian squeezed back, and they sat there in silence, holding onto each other until it hurt.


	18. Chapter 18

“Are you all right?”

Seth glances up from his bedroll, flashing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine. How are you holding up?”

Dorian sighs. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t asking the Inquisitor,” Dorian says, settling in beside him. “I was asking _you_.” He studies his lover’s features in the bloody glow of the torchlight. All around them, the Legion of the Dead go about their business, speaking in the low voices of the condemned. There’s a cavernous silence about the place – except for the occasional burst of rough laughter from a game of bones going on in the corner. A few of the Legionnaires are taking what enjoyment they can in this forgotten corner of the world, trading war stories and good-natured jibes over a few mugs of ale. Perfectly understandable, yet it feels jarring and out of place here, like laughter at a funeral. Which is not far from the truth.

Seth watches them absently, avoiding Dorian’s question – as though the answer isn’t written all over him. He’s even paler than usual. A thin sheen of sweat plasters his silver hair to his temples, and his fingers pluck restlessly at the blankets. He is very obviously _not fine_ , because of course he isn’t. He’s spent most of his life in the sylvan embrace of the wilds. A world of green leaves and sun-dappled earth, of crystal waters and sweet breezes under a broad sweep of sky. He still finds Skyhold suffocating, and now here they are in the Deep Roads, a dark, stinking warren of cramped passages and stale air that would make any creature higher than a nug question its life choices.

“The torchlight,” Seth says. “It makes the walls seem to move. To close in. Don’t you think?”

Dorian starts to agree with him, but what good will that do? He decides on a different approach. “I know you’re not overly fond of walls, _amatus_ , but they have their virtues. They afford one privacy, for example. All these shadowed nooks and crannies… One could get up to all sorts of delicious mischief.” He pauses to let that sink in, eying his lover coyly. “What do you say?”

The elf is half incredulous, half amused. “Are you seriously suggesting a quickie in the Deep Roads?”

“Not the height of romance, I grant you. The possibility of being stumbled on by a tattooed dwarf does nothing to enhance the mood.”

“And what about darkspawn? How are they for the mood?”

“There are drawbacks, to be sure, but I think the ambience affords ample opportunity for some interesting role play. You can be the heroic but damaged Grey Warden haunted by his past. I’ll be…”

“The damsel in distress?”

“The incredibly charismatic and handsome nobleman in distress. I’ll be an incorrigible flirt; you’ll play hard to get, weighed down by duty, et cetera. We’ll quarrel a little, but ultimately you’ll be powerless to resist my charms, and then…”

Seth arches an eyebrow expectantly.

Dorian leans in and whispers a few suggestions for the _climax_ of this little tale, pitching his voice in that low purr that always brings goosebumps to the elf’s skin. This time is no exception, and Seth closes his eyes, shivering. “Oh dear,” he murmurs. “Imagine if the darkspawn caught us doing that.”

“They might find it educational. Why, it might just revolutionize their whole society. They could take this newfound knowledge back to their nest and…”

They stare at each other for a moment. Then Seth snorts with barely suppressed laughter, and Dorian can’t keep it together; they collapse onto Seth’s bedroll, giggling like schoolboys.

They lie shoulder to shoulder, close enough to touch but no so close that they’ll raise any eyebrows. Everyone’s heard the rumours by now, of course, but public displays of affection would feel as out of place here as… Well, snogging at a funeral.

Seth is still chuckling to himself. “Of all the tactics I thought you might use to distract me, I admit I was not expecting darkspawn orgies.”

“I’m glad to hear it. One does so hate to be predictable.”

The elf threads his fingers through Dorian’s. “I love you.”

“How could you not?”

There’s a stretch of comfortable silence. “What do you think we’ll find down here?” Seth asks at length.

“Nothing good. But at least we can check the Deep Roads off our to-do list. We’ll have seen every corner of Thedas by the time this thing is done.”

“And then we’ll live happily ever after,” Seth says, with only a hint of wryness.

“We will,” Dorian says, bringing the elf’s hand to his lips and pressing a fleeting kiss to his knuckles. “I promise.”

* * *

A reckless promise, that. Even then, Dorian had known he couldn’t possibly keep it. There were simply too many things standing in their way. Duty. Incompatible cultures. The suffocating weight of history. And yet how trivial those things seemed now. How very surmountable. _We should have tried harder_ , Dorian thought dully as he squeezed Ellana’s hand. _We should have taken every moment we had left._

He glanced at her. How long had they been sitting there, the two of them, lost in their own thoughts while the others speculated and argued? “Are you all right?” he asked gently. When she didn’t respond, he kept talking to fill the silence. “I was just thinking about the first time we came down here, your brother and I. He hated it. We all did, but he had an especially difficult go of it.”

She nodded. “He said so in his letters. That it was like being trapped in a crypt. I understand what he meant now.” Her gaze skimmed over the ceiling. “I keep thinking it’s going to collapse on us.”

 _Well, actually…_ Cave-ins were all too common down here, but now did not seem like the best time to say so. Instead, he went with something a little more cheerful. “Ironically enough, this is also the place where we came across the most amazing thing any of us had ever seen. We talked about it for years afterward. Did he tell you about that, too?”

Her eyes brightened with curiosity. “I don’t think so.”

“Deeper underground, past the Deep Roads, there are caverns so vast they seem boundless. There’s a whole world down there. Stalagmites the size of mountains. A heaving sea pounding against the rocks. Plants and animals you never knew existed. The walls are aglow with veins of lyrium, and when you look up…” He tipped his head toward the ceiling, and Ellana followed his gaze, imagining with him. “The blackness is filled with tiny pricks of blue light, glittering like stars on a clear night.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“It is. Genuinely breathtaking.” He started to say more, but suddenly Cassandra was looming over them, tightening her sword belt.

“Are the two of you ready to head out again?”

Ellana sprang to her feet. “Of course. Where are we going?”

“Rainier will stay here. He needs to recover his strength.” A mutter of protest came from where Thom was sitting, but Cassandra cut him off with a gesture. “The rest of us will return to the ruins where we found the prisoners.”

Dorian frowned. “Won’t the Wardens be long gone by now?”

“Let us hope so,” Cassandra said. “But Rainier believes we will find a map there.”

“These tunnels go on forever,” Thom put in from where he sat by the fire. “It took our party the better part of a week to find the thaig where the Promisers were holed up, and that’s when they were all in one place. If we’re to have any chance of finding the others, we need to know where we’re going. Even the Promisers can’t keep it straight, so they all carry maps. With any luck, you can sneak into the ruins, steal one, and get out before anyone notices. The Promisers should be distracted looking for the escaped Wardens.”

Ellana sighed. “I guess we went with your plan after all, Dorian. Without even meaning to.”

“We set the Wardens free,” Cullen said. “Thanks to us, they have a decent chance of making it out alive. If that presents us with an opportunity, we’d be fools not to take advantage of it.”

“Then let us make haste and do so,” Cassandra said impatiently.

Dorian glanced at Rainier. “Will you be all right on your own?”

“I can still defend myself,” he said, patting the sword he’d taken off one of the men Dorian killed.

“I’ll leave Maggie with you. She’ll warn you if anyone comes near. And I’ll set more mines in the corridor outside.”

“Thank you. But don’t waste time worrying about me. Just find our people.”

“We will,” Cassandra said firmly, already leading the way out.

Dorian wasn’t pleased to be backtracking already, but he couldn’t deny it made sense. They couldn’t afford to blunder around blindly, wasting time and putting themselves at unnecessary risk. A map would help them find what they were looking for – hopefully while avoiding the main road the Promisers were using to clear rubble.

The thought gave him pause. “If Malkar’s people have been down here for months, why are they still digging? What are they looking for?”

“One more question to add to the list,” Cullen muttered. “We ought to start writing them down.”

It didn’t take long to make it back to the ruins, and when they got there, they found their hosts in a state of disarray. The place was practically deserted, and from the sounds of things, those who remained were none too happy.

“It doesn’t matter how they got the knife,” growled an Orlesian woman, her voice floating down the empty corridor. “They shouldn’t have been able to get past this door. Maker, half of them could barely walk! Henri should be flogged for this.”

“He wasn’t even here!”

“Exactly. And now he’s off chasing the mice he let escape, and we’re the ones who will have to pick up the slack.”

“What slack? What are you even talking about?”

“ _Imb_ _é_ _cile._ What if the darkspawn fall upon us again? Who will fight them off, _hein_? The researchers, with their soft hands and their feather quills? _Non_. It will be you and me. Two against however many.”

Dorian and the others exchanged a look.

“Well,” Cullen whispered, “that’s handy.”

“We should split up,” Ellana murmured. “We can cover more ground.”

Predictably, Cullen didn’t look happy about that suggestion. “It’s risky.”

“We’re in the Deep Roads,” Dorian snapped. “Everything is risky.”

Cullen sighed. “Fair enough. I’ll go with Ellana. You and Divine Victoria—”

Cassandra growled impatiently. “This is hardly the time for honourifics. Let us hurry.” Jerking her head for the others to follow, she slipped into the corridor and set off in the opposite direction from the arguing Promisers. They soon reached a T, and that’s where they split up, Dorian and Cassandra making a right while the others went left.

The first room they came across was lined with books. The research library, presumably, such as it was. Dorian scanned a few of the titles, but they weren’t especially interesting. Books on the Blight, mostly, and some anatomy texts. They pressed on. The next room seemed to serve as a private office of sorts, consisting of a single desk covered in stacks of paper. _Well, now. This looks promising._ Dorian leafed through the pages as quickly as he could. Much of it was routine – inventories, requisitions, et cetera – but there were notes on each test subject. How they were infected and what happened to them; how long it took for them to die. The final notation for each was the same: _No response to treatment._ Apparently, Malkar’s efforts to cure the Blight weren’t going well. _Limited value in using live subjects_ , the notes said. _Research to concentrate on ghouls until further notice._

Dorian made a face. They must have been keeping the ghouls somewhere nearby. In separate cages, presumably, so they didn’t eat each other. Not the sort of scene he fancied stumbling across.

He resumed his search, opening a drawer in the desk, and…

“Hello,” he murmured. “What have we here?”

The soft blue glow of lyrium emanated from the back of the drawer. Opening it further, Dorian discovered a scrap of metal with lyrium woven into it. A broken fragment, from the look of it, belonging to something larger. There were sketches here too, and equations, with notes in the margins: _Temperature? DO NOT BOIL. Stirred into molten metal? Injected into semi-hardened?_

Much as he wanted to pocket the piece of metal, that would almost certainly be noticed. Notes, however, could plausibly have gone astray, so Dorian grabbed the sketches and jammed them in his pouch.

“ _Hsst!_ ” Cassandra was motioning at him from the doorway. Time to leave. He started for the door, but she made a slashing gesture with her arm. “No time! Conceal yourself!”

Conceal himself? Was she blind? There was nothing in here but a desk! His gaze raked the room, but no better option presented itself, so he scurried under the desk and curled up in a ball like a bloody child playing peek-and-hide. Cassandra, meanwhile, pressed herself into a shadowed corner, blade at the ready.

Dorian hugged his knees to his chest and fumed. It was absurd, cowering under a desk when he could be setting these vermin on fire. But if word got out they were down here, they’d lose the element of surprise, and that would almost certainly prove fatal for all of them, their friends included.

Voices reached them from the corridor. “We shouldn’t leave the experiment for too long. I want to observe the effects.”

“You can stare at that damned thing all day if it suits you. I haven’t eaten since this morning. Besides, we’re not going to get anything new out of it. We need fresh blood. Literally.”

“New shipment’s coming in today, so they say. Most of it’s for the dig, but they’ve got a fresh crop of knife-ears, too.”

Dorian’s heart froze in his chest. _A fresh crop of knife-ears._ Follow the shipment, find the elves. Find Seth, and Sera too. If they were still alive.

“We should put in a requisition.”

“What for? Thought we were done testing the living?”

“Yeah, but I got an idea. Just one or two.”

It was _extremely_ difficult not to set them on fire. Dorian could only promise himself that they would pay eventually, even if he had to hunt down every last one of these bastards himself.

“Oh, you got an _idea_ , huh? Is it worth the risk?”

The voices were right outside the door now, and the footsteps stopped abruptly. “What’re you on about?”

“Haven’t you heard? Been going on for weeks now. Darkspawn are drawn to the fresh ones. Must be able to smell them or something. The minute a new shipment of subjects comes in, the darkspawn are on them like flies on shit. Best think twice before we bring that to our door, is all I’m saying.”

The footsteps resumed, the voices receding gradually down the corridor until all was silent.

Cassandra stepped out of the shadows. “Let’s go.”

Dorian crawled out from under the desk, but instead of following her back the way they’d come, he headed toward the room the researchers had come out of.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra hissed.

“This must be their laboratory. I want to see what they’re doing in here.” Dorian opened the door – and immediately regretted it. A familiar wave of nausea rolled over him, and his head throbbed. A huge shard of red lyrium sat on a dissection table, its malevolent glow painting the entire room blood-red. “Never mind,” Dorian said, closing the door. Whatever they were doing with that poison, it wasn’t worth risking madness to find out.

They retraced their steps to the passageway and found Cullen and Ellana waiting for them – the latter wearing a cheeky grin.

“Success, I take it?” Dorian whispered.

She nodded, patting a pocket. “Let’s go. We can look at it back at camp.”

Rainier was asleep when they got there, and he jerked awake with a snort, sword in hand. He gave Maggie an accusing look, but she just wagged her tail.

“She only barks at strangers,” Dorian said airily, giving the wolf a scratch.

“You were right, Thom.” Ellana smoothed a sheet of vellum out on the floor between them. “Just look at this spider’s web. It would take weeks to go through all these tunnels.”

“Here,” Cassandra said, tapping the map. “This crossroads. This is the camp mentioned in the note we found. A new shipment is due to arrive there today.”

“There are elves in that shipment,” Dorian said. “If we follow it, they’ll lead us straight to the elven prisoners.”

Ellana closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to Mythal.

“It’s not far from here,” Cullen said excitedly. “We could be there before nightfall, provided we don’t encounter too many problems along the way.”

A silly thing to say, since it all but guaranteed that they would. So be it. If there was even a chance Seth was being held in that camp, Dorian would fight through every blighted creature on Thedas to get to him.

 _Hold on,_ amatus, he thought, already striding for the door. _I’m coming._


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, look, this pace is totally unsustainable, but you guys have been so wonderful with the comments and I really wanted you to have this for the weekend. Happy Friday, everyone!

“Should we leave Maggie behind with Thom?” Ellana asked, only half a step behind Dorian.

“Don’t bother,” Rainier said, buckling on his looted armour. “I’m coming with you.”

“Out of the question,” Cassandra said flatly.

Dorian hesitated in the doorway, burning with impatience. He honestly didn’t care which way this decision landed, so long as it landed _now_.

Rainier met Cassandra’s glare with a look of cool determination. “I won’t sit on my backside while our friends are in danger.”

“You can hardly walk,” Cullen said.

“I’m feeling stronger already, now that I’ve had a little rest and something to eat. I’ll manage. It’s my decision.”

“No,” Cassandra returned, “it is not. If you are too weak to defend yourself, you put the entire party and our objective at risk.”

“All right then, let’s put it to the person in charge. Who’s in command here?” Rainier’s gaze took in the whole group.

They all looked at one another. If there’d been crickets in the Deep Roads, they would have been chirping.

 _Oh, for the love of…_ “It hasn’t come up,” Dorian said irritably. “Can we please just…?” He gestured at the door.

“It’s a fair question,” Cullen said. “We can’t afford to dither over every decision. Perhaps we should appoint a commander.”

More crickets.

Dorian sighed and looked at Ellana. “He’s your brother.”

“Me?” She gave a hollow laugh. “I’m the least qualified person here. I’ve never been in charge of anything in my life.”

“Neither had your brother, before he joined us,” Cassandra pointed out.

“That’s not entirely true. He used to lead hunting expeditions all the time. I’ve never even done that.”

“Still,” Cullen said, “you are family. And you’re the one who brought this search party together. None of us would be here if it weren’t for you.”

“I asked for your help because you’re all battle-hardened. Experienced.” Ellana shook her head. “No, I’m wise enough to know when I’m out of my depth.”

“If you are not comfortable leading yourself,” Cassandra said, “you should appoint someone you trust.”

“Very well. In that case, I choose…” Ellana hesitated, her gaze shifting between the warriors.

 _Yes, yes_ , Dorian thought impatiently. _They’re all fine candidates. Experienced commanders, et cetera. Can’t really go wrong here. Just bloody well pick one._

Then those blue-green eyes landed on him, and she said, “Dorian.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“ _Dorian?_ ” Cassandra snorted in disgust. “If that is the sort of command instincts you have, perhaps it’s best that you didn’t accept the job.”

“Cassandra,” Cullen tutted disapprovingly, forgetting the formalities for a change.

As for Ellana, she scowled at Divine Victoria as though she couldn’t give a nug fart about shem protocol. Which was almost certainly the case. “Dorian is smart and capable and he has my brother’s best interests at heart. You said I ought to appoint someone I trust. I trust Dorian.”

“Dorian it is,” Rainier said, cutting off any further protest from Cassandra. “Now then, how about it, Commander?” He raised his bushy eyebrows at Dorian. “Will you have my sword, or no?”

To his immense irritation, Dorian felt himself blushing. “Well you’re no Blackwall, but you seem steady enough.”

“Good.” Rainier clapped Dorian’s shoulder. “And Maker help us all.”

Dorian’s mouth took a sour turn. “Smart of you to save that last bit until after I’d said yes.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a complete fool. Shall we?”

They headed out, Maggie scouting ahead while they followed the passage in a roughly southwesterly direction. Every step took them a little deeper underground, the gently sloping floor giving way to a short flight of steps every hundred feet or so. The tunnel branched regularly, but with the help of the map, Ellana kept them on a zigzagging path that avoided the main road.

“I hope it’s all right with you,” she murmured to Dorian as they walked. “You didn’t seem all that happy about being chosen.”

“I was… surprised. It’s not the choice I would have made. I hope you won’t end up regretting it.”

“I won’t,” she said with simple confidence.

“Dorian.” Cassandra dropped back to walk beside him. “You took something from the ruins earlier. What did you find?”

“See for yourself.” He unfolded the papers he’d stolen and handed them over. “I’m no expert, but I’d say they’re armour schematics.”

“Armour and weapons.” Cassandra frowned at the sketches. “What are these notes? Do not boil what?”

“Lyrium. I found what I believe was a broken piece of armour, with lyrium woven into the metal. Sound familiar?”

Cassandra lifted her gaze to his. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not. Our friends appear to have gotten their hands on at least one piece of Sha-Brytol armour, and it looks as though they’re trying to replicate it. With red lyrium, one presumes.”

“Maker’s balls,” Rainier growled. “That’s all we need.”

Ellana’s glance cut between Dorian and Cassandra. “What’s a Sha-Brytol?”

“Do you remember the story I told you earlier, about the caverns below the Deep Roads? There were dwarves down there calling themselves the Sha-Brytol. Revered Defenders. Not an overly _friendly_ bunch.”

“They attacked us at every turn,” Cassandra said. “With weapons and armour that were incredibly powerful.”

“So powerful,” Cullen put in, “that the Inquisition and the Legion of the Dead agreed to keep their existence secret. We took a few items for our own use, but the rest was put under lock and key. We even burned the schematics when the Inquisition was disbanded. How did the Promisers get hold of a sample?”

“Carta, most likely,” Rainier said. “Or a Legionnaire looking to settle some family debts. That equipment would fetch a pretty price.”

“Perhaps that explains the Legionnaire we found,” Dorian said. “At any rate—”

A muted _boom_ sounded from somewhere far ahead, and a shower of dust sprinkled them from above. Ellana froze like a rabbit, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Is that an earthquake?”

Another _boom_ , a little softer this time. “I don’t think so.” Dorian narrowed his eyes. “Explosions of some sort, I’d say. But they’re a long way off.”

The blasts continued as they walked, sending the occasional shower of dust over them. And then, quite without warning, they found themselves meeting up with the main road. Maggie _whuffed_ softly, and a moment later voices sounded from just down the road, along with the rattle of wheels on stone.

Ellana peered out of the passageway. “Wagons,” she whispered. “They’re coming this way.”

They held their position, concealed in shadow as the caravan rolled into view. The first wagon was driven by a dwarf – Carta, presumably – and pulled by a pair of brontos, with guards flanking it on either side. One of the them was Qunari, and Dorian was about to express surprise when he got a look at the cargo they were hauling.

“Gaatlock,” Cassandra growled.

Cullen swore under his breath. “That explains the explosions. They must be using it to tunnel through the rock.”

Dorian frowned, his gaze following the Qunari. “Why would a Tal-Vashoth join the Order of Fiery Promise? Last time I checked, fanaticism didn’t pay well.”

The second wagon rolled past, carrying more gaatlock. It wasn’t until the third wagon appeared that they got their first glimpse of the prisoners, half a dozen terrified-looking city elves crammed into a cage like animals.

“Poor bastards,” Rainier murmured.

They waited until the caravan was out of sight before following, careful to keep their distance as they scurried along the walls like rats. They didn’t have far to go; already, Dorian could see the torches of Three Roads camp ahead.

“It looks like a waypoint,” Cullen whispered as they crouched behind a fallen pillar. “Look – the prisoner wagon isn’t even stopping.”

“That makes sense,” Ellana said, consulting the map. “The dig site is here, to the southeast. It’s still a long way off, so they’re probably stopping for the night. Whereas this camp here is only another couple of miles. That’s probably where the prisoners are headed.”

“Do we attack?” Cullen asked. “We have the element of surprise.”

Dorian waited for someone to answer the question – until he realized they were all looking at him.

_Oh, right. You’re in charge now. Wonderful._

He counted about a dozen in the enemy camp. They had a good chance of taking it, provided there weren’t any of these famous Anointed among them. But with all that gaatlock, they might end up making rather a lot of noise, which would alert the nearby camps. That wasn’t a risk Dorian was prepared to take. Not until he knew their friends were safe. “We follow the prisoners,” he whispered. “Provided we can find a way around these bastards without being spotted.”

Ellana traced a finger along the map. “If we head back along the main road to this tunnel, we should be able to meet up with the wagon here. We’ll have to hurry, though, or they’ll get too far ahead of us.”

“Then we’d better get moving,” Dorian said. “Lead the way.”

They took the next stretch of tunnels at a jog. Predictably, Maggie found this delightful, bounding along with her tongue hanging out as though she expected someone to throw a stick at any moment. Dorian found it considerably less delightful, but he didn’t let up. Rainier was managing the pace, and Dorian refused to be shown up by a half-dead lummox in plate mail.

And then suddenly, Maggie skidded to a halt, ears pricked forward. She growled, and a moment later Dorian heard it: muffled shouts and the clash of steel.

“Fighting ahead,” Cassandra said, drawing her blade.

The words were scarcely out of her mouth before an ungodly shriek split the air, and the shouting become screams. “Darkspawn,” Rainier said grimly.

Dorian’s blood ran cold as he recalled what he’d overheard earlier. _Darkspawn are drawn to the fresh ones._ “The prisoners,” he breathed, breaking into a run.

Even before they got there, Dorian knew they were too late. The screaming tapered off, and a terrible silence descended. By the time they reached the road, it was littered with bodies – or rather, what was left of them. The darkspawn had already begun to feed. The wagon was empty, the cage door ajar. Bits of the driver lay strewn across the seat, but the rest of the bodies were unidentifiable; it was impossible even to tell how many there were.

Dorian was just about to give the order to attack when a fresh wave of Promisers came charging down the road, roaring a battle cry. Half a dozen surviving shrieks looked up from their meal, screaming in rage at having their feast interrupted.

It was the perfect opportunity.

“Let’s introduce ourselves, shall we?” Dorian stepped out into the road and sent a wall of flame roaring through the centre of the melee. Then, having announced himself in style, he threw a barrier over his allies and got down to business.

He almost pitied the Promisers. One minute, you’re battling a host of shrieks, which is more than enough to be getting on with, and the next thing you know, you’re unaccountably on fire. Then someone attacks you from behind with a pointy object, and you’d quite like to defend yourself, but there are still those pesky darkspawn trying to claw your throat out, and to top it all off, someone just shot an arrow up your arse.

He _almost_ pitied them, but of course he didn’t, because they all deserved to die. Which they did, rather quickly, if not quite horribly enough to suit him.

The shrieks took a little longer to kill. One of them went straight for Ellana, but it didn’t get far; Cullen threw himself bodily into the creature, slamming it into the wall with a sickening _crunch._ He pinned it there with his shield, and a moment later it jerked and went still, slumping to the ground with one of Ellana’s arrows buried between its eyes. A pair of them charged Rainier, but Dorian slowed them down enough for Thom to cleave off the arm of one before skewering another, leaving Cassandra to finish the one-armed creature. A fourth, the final survivor, had plans for Dorian, but he Fade-stepped away, and Cullen took it from behind, sweeping its head cleanly from its shoulders.

They paused, listening, but the tunnel was silent. “I think that’s the last of them,” Cullen said between strained breaths.

Dorian’s gaze fell to the carnage all around them.

“The prisoners,” Ellana whispered. “Those poor people…”

“Maker keep you at His side,” Cassandra murmured.

Dorian felt sick. _If I’d given the order to attack. If we’d taken them at Three Roads…_ This blood was on his hands.

“Maggie, don’t!” Ellana’s voice made him jump. The wolf was snuffling eagerly around the bodies, her twitching nose only inches from seeping darkspawn ichor.

“Maggie. _Garas!_ ” Dorian snapped his fingers and pointed beside him. The wolf raised her head and looked at him, but she didn’t move. “Right. Now.”

She whined pitifully, but she did as she was told, slinking to his side with her tail tucked.

“How many times do I have to tell you? _No darkspawn._ ”

“Hush,” Cassandra said abruptly, her gaze abstracted. “Do you hear that? Voices coming from up the road.”

“We’re close to the prisoner camp,” Ellana said. “We should—”

Dorian was already moving, and the others fell in behind him. He couldn’t see their faces, but he could feel the same grim purpose rolling off them in cold waves. Swinging his pack down from his shoulder, Dorian fetched his helm – lyrium-infused, one of the few remaining relics of their time in the Bastion of the Pure – and slammed it onto his head. The time for games was over. There would be no more sneaking. No more cowering under desks. However many Promisers were up that road, whatever tricks they had up their sleeves, they were going to die. And those prisoners, whatever their condition, would not spend one more moment in a cage.

They could see the glow of the braziers now, flickering along the hard geometric lines of another ancient dwarven ruin. Cages lined the walls, their rusted iron bars the colour of dried blood. The prisoners were asleep, from the look of things, curled up on the floor of their cells in heaps of tattered clothing. Dorian’s heart thudded in his ears. _Let him be there. Maker, please, let him be there, and let him be whole._

The Promisers saw them coming. Shouts went up, and a handful of warriors rushed at them. Dorian cast a barrier just as a volley of arrows hissed through the air, bouncing off his energy shield with a crackle. Ellana returned fire, dropping one of the archers, and Cassandra roared a battle cry. Rainier and Cullen joined her in the charge, and the two fronts collided in a crash of steel on steel.

 _Archers first._ A pair of them hung back by the prison cells. Dorian froze them stiff with a gesture, and was about to deliver the finishing blow when a familiar wave of energy hit him like a charging bronto, knocking the wind out of him and sending him staggering back. _Templar._ His gaze raked the field, but he couldn’t pinpoint his attacker. And then he felt his barrier draining away as though it had sprung a leak, his mana spilling into the ether.

“There!” Cassandra shoved her opponent back long enough to point with her sword. She’d sensed the ex-templar’s power: he was stationed near the cells and focused wholly on Dorian. So focused, indeed, that he paid no attention to the prisoner rising up from the floor to grab him from behind, jerking him back against the bars and distracting him long enough for Dorian to freeze him solid. Ellana drew back on her bow until her arms shook and sent a thumping shot straight into his chest, and his armour shattered like glass. He slumped to the ground, revealing a familiar figure behind the bars.

“Took you bloody long enough,” Sera growled.

Dorian rushed over. “Where is he? Sera, where—” A shadow moved to his right: a guard he hadn’t noticed before. Dorian snarled and raised his staff, but Sera stopped him with a shout.

“Not that one! He’s all right.”

“What?” said Dorian.

“What?” said the guard.

“We got an arrangement, don’t we?” Sera gestured casually at the guard. “He keeps me at the back of the queue, and I tell him where his friends can find things my friends left lying around. Win-win.”

“That’s right,” the guard said nervously, slowly lowering his weapon. “I get paid, she gets left alone. Win-win.”

Dorian blinked in astonishment, looking Sera over more carefully. She was skinny and ragged-looking, but then, this was Sera; she was always skinny and ragged-looking. Her skin glowed with health, and her eyes were as bright as ever. “They haven’t done anything to you?”

“Been making me eat nug. _Ech._ ” She made a face. “Other than that, I’m good. Been waiting for you to… Hello, who’s this?”

Ellana approached warily, her bow drawn at the Promiser guard. “Is my brother with you? Please, where is my brother?”

“You mean the Inquisitor?” Sera’s face fell. “He isn’t with you? But I thought…” Her gaze went over Dorian’s shoulder. Dimly, he realized the battle was over; he’d been so focused on finding Seth that he hadn’t even noticed. “Then how did you get here?”

Ellana lowered her weapon and started picking the lock of Sera’s cell. “When was the last time you saw him?” Her voice shook, but her hands were steady, and a moment later, the cell door swung open.

“Not since I last saw _him.”_ Sera inclined her chin at Rainier, who was walking over with Cullen. Cassandra, meanwhile, was comforting the other prisoners, promising them they’d be free in a moment. “Big mess, that day,” Sera went on, a sorrowful look coming over her. “A lot of good people died. When I woke up and the Inquisitor wasn’t here, I told myself he must have escaped. But if he’s not with you, then I guess he must be…” Her eyes met Dorian’s, and the grief seeping into them was like poison in his veins.

He sank to his haunches, his breath echoing horribly in the confines of his helm.

_Sunlight frames his laughing face, glinting through silver hair…_

_I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him..._

His chest ached so much he could hardly draw air. And then suddenly Maggie was at his side, whining and wagging her tail, a disgusting scrap of clothing in her mouth. It was covered in darkspawn ichor, and Dorian realized in horror that she’d picked it up back where the other prisoners had been killed. She must have done it when none of them were looking, and now…

“Maggie,” he whispered, taking the Blight-soaked clothing from her mouth. “What have you done?” _Not you, too_ , he thought, and he could feel his heart tearing into pieces.

But she didn’t seem to have any of the stuff on her muzzle, and if she was in any kind of distress, it was only because she wanted him to see something. She whined again and nudged him; through a haze of tears, Dorian looked closer at what she’d brought him. It was a hooded cloak, or what was left of one – crusty with dried darkspawn ichor, and spattered with fresh, too. The slobbery bit was clean, though, as though Maggie had known instinctively how to carry it safely. And then he saw it: what had the wolf so agitated, and something between a laugh and a sob wracked his chest.

“Dorian…” Cassandra’s voice was full of sympathy.

He shook his head, picking at the fabric in his hands, and he could feel the others looking at him as if he’d lost his mind, but at last he got hold of it, and he held it up for all to see.

A single silver hair.

“He’s out there,” Dorian whispered, smiling through his tears. “He’s alive.”


	20. Chapter 20

The walls rolled past at a plodding pace. Wherever they were going, the dwarf in the driver’s seat didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to get there. Not that Valyn was in a hurry either. He had no idea what their captors had planned for them, but it surely wasn’t anything good. Hard labour, most likely. Mining, or tunnelling, or both. Though if that’s what they wanted, they would have been better off capturing dwarves or humans. Elves wouldn’t last long down here. They all knew it, too. His fellow prisoners were weeping, or praying, or plotting their escape, but Valyn had left off all that days ago. Pointless. What would be would be.

The wagon juddered and bumped along, the steady rattle of the wheels almost putting him to sleep… Until an ear-splitting shriek rang off the stone, and a horde of darkspawn fell upon them like a pack of blight wolves.

Everyone started screaming at once.

The driver shouted and twitched the reins, but the brontos ignored him; they were too busy bellowing in pain, their knees giving way beneath them. Peering between the bars, Valyn saw that their legs had been slashed just below the haunches, crippling them.

_What the…? The darkspawn haven’t touched them…_

The dwarf started to jump down from his seat – only to be grabbed from behind by a hooded figure, his throat opened before he could even shout a warning. Valyn watched in astonishment as the hooded stranger vaulted over the top of the cage and dropped down behind the wagon, lock-picking tools in hand. The next thing he knew, the door was open and everyone was pouring out and the stranger was grabbing Valyn by the scruff of his neck and shoving him in the direction of a branching tunnel – _Go, go, go! Don’t look back!_ – but he did look back, just long enough to see the stranger face off against a trio of pursuing darkspawn in a flurry of flashing daggers.

Valyn ran, following the others through a dark, twisting passageway. Nobody knew where they were going, and when they reached a fork in the tunnel, some of them started to panic.

“Stop!” An older woman raised her arms, commanding everyone’s attention. “ _Quiet._ He said to wait here. He said he’d be right behind us.”

“Who?” Valyn demanded. “What in Andraste’s name just happened?”

“Keep your voices down.” The stranger appeared out of the shadows. He no longer wore a hood; what was left of his cloak hung in tatters from his shoulders. The man underneath was filthy and ragged, but his armour looked expensive, and he’d handled those darkspawn with ease. The _vallaslin_ peeking through the smudges of soot on his face marked him as Dalish. An escaped prisoner, perhaps? Whoever he was, it looked like he’d been down here a long time. “Listen carefully,” he said. “There isn’t much time.” He waited for the murmurs to die down before continuing. “Follow this tunnel until you reach an underground lake. You’ll find a cache there. Food and weapons.”

“We’re not fighters,” someone said.

“With any luck, you won’t need to use them. After the lake, keep going until you come to another crossroads. Take the passage to the right. In about a day, you’ll reach a small cave in the mountains. The village of Cliffside is about five miles to the northwest. Stay off the roads and you should be safe.”

Valyn’s mouth fell open. “Just like that? But if there’s a way out, why haven’t you taken it? Who are you, anyway?”

A pair of startling aquamarine eyes met his. “Did you get all that?”

“Yes.” Valyn nodded, feeling suddenly solemn for reasons he couldn’t explain. “Cache by the lake. Right at the crossroads.”

The stranger started to turn away, but the old woman grabbed his hand. “The Maker sent you to us. Bless you, Herald.”

Valyn gasped. They all gasped.

“ _Dareth shiral_ ,” the Inquisitor said, and then he was gone.

* * *

“We have to go back,” Dorian said, his pulse thudding in his ears. “The prison wagon. That’s where Maggie found this.” He held up the scrap of cloak the wolf had brought him. “He was there. He was _right there_. We must have just missed him.”

Cullen and Cassandra exchanged a look. He knew what they were thinking. A scrap of clothing didn’t prove anything. It could have been lying in the road for weeks. Or the darkspawn could have looted it off a body. All true, but Dorian didn’t care. Seth was alive. He knew it in his bones, and so did Maggie. Seth had been there only moments before they arrived – which meant his scent would be fresh. She could track him. If they left right now…

 _Steady, Pavus. There’s still the matter of the prisoners._ Ellana had opened most of the cells already, but many of the elves were in terrible condition, having been exposed to red lyrium for weeks or months. He’d seen this before, too many times, starting with the nightmare at Redcliffe Castle. The place where he’d first fought at Seth’s side. A horrible memory, and yet precious. Strange how both things could be true.

“There’s a lake about two miles from here,” Rainier said, bringing Dorian back to the present. “Fresh water. Defensible. We used it as our fallback position before we were captured. We should take the prisoners there. Let them recover what strength they can.”

“A pity the darkspawn killed those brontos back there,” Cullen said. “We could have used the wagon to transport the weaker prisoners at least part of the way.”

“We have a wagon,” said the Promiser guard. Dorian had all but forgotten about the man; he hadn’t moved an inch since laying down his weapon. “A wagon and a bronto. Just down there.” He pointed. “Stinks something awful, that beast, so we keep it well away from where we sleep.”

“Oh, hey, speaking of stinks…” Sera scowled at him. “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be running for your life or something?”

The guard took his cue and bolted.

“What are you doing?” Cullen demanded. “He could sound the alarm!”

Sera ignored him. “’Scuse me, Ellana, was it? Mind if I borrow this?” She took Ellana’s bow, nocked an arrow, and shot the fleeing guard in the back of the head. He tumbled to the dust and didn’t move again. “Wankstain.”

Ellana blinked at her in mild dismay. “I thought you had a deal with him?”

“A deal for me, sure. Doesn’t cover this lot, though, does it?” Sera gestured at the prisoners. “You don’t get to do things like that to people and just walk away.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and started down the slope toward the bronto paddock. “We should get moving before we are discovered. Come, Commander, let us hitch up this wagon.”

“So much for the element of surprise,” Ellana said, surveying the mess with a sigh. “They’ll come looking for us now.”

Dorian considered that. “Perhaps we can buy ourselves a little more time. If we load the bodies into the wagon and dump them somewhere, we can at least leave the Promisers guessing. Let them wonder if the darkspawn are responsible.”

“You heard the man,” Rainier said, already moving. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up as best we can.”

“There’s a cistern over there,” Sera said. “Few buckets of water will sort us out.”

“I’ll get it.” Ellana headed off at a jog, as anxious as Dorian to get back to the site of the darkspawn attack.

Sera watched her go with a tilt of her head. “So. The Inquisitor’s sister.”

Dorian gave her a knowing smirk. “Like what you see?”

“Lavellans, right? Those parents must’ve been something to look at.”

“Well, don’t get too attached. She’s spoken for. Twice over, if I’m not mistaken.” His gaze strayed to Cullen.

Sera snorted softly. “Figures. Anyway, something you should know.” Her expression grew serious. “The red lyrium they were using here. It was different.”

Dorian frowned. “Different how?”

“They made it. I mean, not just the way the Red Templars used to, growing it out of people and stuff. They made it out of regular lyrium.”

“What?” His frown deepened. “Just like that? How could they possibly…?”

 _Red lyrium has the Blight._ Bianca Davri had figured it out. Aerion Malkar must have done the same. Only he’d taken it one step further, apparently, working out how to infect ordinary lyrium with the Blight. But why…?

And then it clicked, like a mechanism slotting into place. The dead Legionnaire. The Sha-Brytol armour. The tunnelling. _The dig site is here_ , Ellana had said. _To the southeast…_

“Maker help us,” Dorian whispered. “They’re going to infect the titan.”

“What are you on about?” Sera gave him a wary look. “You mean that giant earth-shakey thingy you and the Inquisitor fought way back when?”

“We didn’t fight it. Not really. It was too big to fight. Too powerful. Andraste preserve us, it will destroy _everything_ …” He was talking to himself now, numb with horror as his brain followed the knock-on effects like a line of tiles stood on end, tipping over one by one.

_Infect the titan with the Blight. The Wellspring pumps the Taint through the veins of the world, turning every drop of lyrium red. Orzammar is the first to fall, its economy ruined. The Carta are waiting in the wings to capitalize on the chaos. The Imperium is next, its entire infrastructure dependant on a steady supply of lyrium. The Qunari take it over at a stroke. The Circles fall, and the templars. The Qunari march south. Chaos spreads all over Thedas. And all the while the red lyrium spreads, infecting everyone and everything…_

“That’s why they’re testing every species they can get their hands on,” Dorian murmured. “They want to know how everything will react. What they will become and how long it will take for them to die. How very scientific.”

“Cassandra!” Sera shouted over her shoulder. “Better come quick. Dorian’s gone barmy!”

“Malkar and his Anointed will be safe, resistant as they are. They can wait out the storm until they work out how to cure the Blight and reverse what they’ve done. They’ll be all alone in the ashes, just like they’ve always wanted. And when life finally starts to crawl back, they’ll be there to guide it.”

“Dorian.” Cassandra jogged up, looking worried. “What’s going on? Why are you talking to yourself?”

“I understand now. What the Promisers are trying to do, and why Seth was so desperate to stop them. We have to hurry, Cassandra. We have to find him!”

“But what—?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Quickly, while the scent is still fresh and Maggie can track him.”

Cassandra hesitated, clearly unhappy about having to wait for an explanation. But she did as he asked, helping the prisoners up into the wagon while Cullen and Rainier gathered the bodies and Ellana threw buckets of water over the blood. When the scene was as clean as they could leave it, they set off, heading back the way they’d come.

 _A titan infected with red lyrium._ Dorian shook his head dully, his body swaying with the rhythm of the wagon. This was bigger than Seth now. Bigger than any of them. If Malkar wasn’t stopped… And yet all he could think of as they rolled along was how much closer each step brought him to his love.

_Andraste, please let us find him tonight. For all our sakes._

* * *

 _Vir Assan._ Be swift and silent.

 _Vir Bor'assan._ As the sapling bends, so must you.

 _Vir Adahlen._ Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness.

This was the Way of Three Trees. The way of the hunter. These were the words that guided his steps, and his blade.

Once, he had been a child of Sylaise, Hearthkeeper and Protector. She marked him still. In his heart, and in the _vallaslin_ twined over his left eye. But her ways had failed him down here. He hadn’t been able to protect Varric, or Thom or Sera. He’d stood by, powerless, watching from the shadows as they were hauled away. He hadn’t been able to protect the other prisoners, either. Couldn’t even get near them, surrounded as they were day and night. Their anguish echoed in his ears, haunted his dreams until he thought he would go mad.

And so he turned to Andruil. It was the Huntress who guided him now. He was her creature through and through: swift and silent, striking unseen, taking opportunities where he found them. He stalked his prey from the shadows. Separated the weak from the herd and picked them off one by one. He baited snares and waited, patient, so patient, until the trap was sprung, and then he fell upon his enemy without mercy, without remorse. He sabotaged and thwarted. Sowed chaos and confusion, springing the blighted animals from their cages, luring the darkspawn to his enemy’s doorstep and exploiting the mayhem that ensued. Above all, he waited — patient, so patient — for his chance to do more. The enemy feared him, even though they only half believed he existed. They whispered about him around campfires, like a children’s tale. The faceless wraith who waited in the dark, ready to pounce.

Sometimes, he only half believed in his own existence. He was barely there. A wolf without a pack, surviving on deep mushrooms and nug and memories. Wicked Grace with Varric. Sera’s awful cookies, and Thom’s awful stories.

Dorian.

His touch. His voice. The scent of his skin. The tiny flecks of gold in his eyes, like a secret treasure. The thrill of his kiss, and the aching bliss of being inside him.

_Ar lath, ’ma vhen’an, bellanaris._

But that was another life. Another man. He was only the Hunter now. Child of Andruil.

He’d honed his technique. Painting himself in darkspawn ichor, wearing it like vitaar, making himself all but invisible among them. Leaving a trail of his own blood for the creatures to follow, then standing aside as they did their work, providing the diversion he needed to do his. Today’s batch of prisoners was the fourth he’d set free. The transport wagons were thinly-guarded. Easy prey. But this time, he was after bigger game. He’d timed his attack carefully, and with any luck, the commotion had drawn off some of the guards from the nearby prison camp, leaving it vulnerable at last. He dared to hope that today was the day he could finally reach Sera. He’d watched her from the shadows, whenever he could risk a moment away from the dig site. She seemed all right, but that wouldn’t last. She and the other prisoners needed to get out of there, and he’d finally worked out a way to do it without tipping his hand.

He circled around the back way, avoiding the passage where the commotion had taken place. But when he got there, the cells were empty, and the wagon was gone. The prisoners had been moved.

He sank to his haunches and folded his arms over his head. His animal cry of fury reverberated off the ancient stone. But he allowed himself only that brief indulgence.

 _Vir Bor'assan._ As the sapling bends, so must you.

He’d watched the shipment approaching Three Roads camp. He knew what they were carrying and where they were taking it. He also knew that if they lost that precious cargo, their progress would be stymied for days, if not weeks.

 _Vir Adahlen._ Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness.

Andruil had given him the gift of gaatlock. What a pretty bonfire it would make.


	21. Chapter 21

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen rubbed his eyes, barely paying attention to the road anymore. “It never ends. It’s just one world-threatening calamity after another.”

“And here we are,” Sera said, “right in the friggin’ middle of it all. _Again_. Is it bad luck, or are we just stupid?” She walked alongside the wagon, guarding one flank while Ellana guarded the other, with Rainier and Cassandra bringing up the rear. Dorian, meanwhile, sat in the driver’s seat beside Cullen, from which position he’d brought them all up to speed on the marvellous news. Even the prisoners had listened in, though most of them were too numb to register much of anything.

“A Blighted titan.” Rainier cursed quietly. “Almost makes you nostalgic for the old days, when all we had to worry about was a demon army.”

“Cheer up, Thom,” said Dorian. “We might end up with one of those, too. Red lyrium thins the Veil. In sufficient quantities, it could conceivably cause rifts all over Thedas.”

“Only there would be no anchor to seal them,” Cassandra said. “Wonderful.”

“Why, if we’re _very_ lucky, we might even get ourselves a brand-new archdemon or two. After all, if we’re pumping the Blight through every vein of lyrium in the Deep Roads…”

“Ugh, we _get it_ ,” Sera growled. “World’s ending, everything’s going to shite. Can we talk about something happy for a change? Like the Inquisitor still being alive?”

“I pray it is so,” Cassandra said. “But a single hair… Can we even be certain it is his?”

“Maggie seemed certain,” Cullen said.

“It’s his,” Dorian said firmly. “He was there when the darkspawn attacked that prisoner wagon. That can’t be a coincidence. In fact, I’m beginning to think none of it is a coincidence.”

He felt Cassandra’s eyes on him. “Meaning what?”

“Those Promisers we overheard earlier – do you remember what they said about the darkspawn being drawn to new prisoners? That every time a shipment comes in, it’s promptly attacked? That seems awfully convenient, doesn’t it?”

Cullen glanced at him. “You think the Inquisitor is behind it? But how?” He shook his head, mystified. “How could he possibly survive down here on his own?”

“The way he always has,” Ellana put in. “Moving in shadow. Masking his scent. Adapting to the terrain.”

“In other words, by being _Dalish_.” Dorian and Ellana exchanged a quiet smile.

“Three cheers for being elfy,” Sera said.

Ellana didn’t much care for her tone. “You don’t think that’s a good thing?” she asked coolly.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad the Inquisitor’s all right. _If_ he’s all right. Which, he probably is, because he’s the Inquisitor. World’s most famous arse-kicker, and a sneaky bugger besides. Still, it sounds bloody awful, doesn’t it? This place, all on your own, for a month and some?” She glanced around at the stone walls and shuddered.

Dorian shifted uneasily. Somewhere under all that nonsense, she had a point. What would an experience like that do to a person, even one as naturally serene as Seth? Perhaps especially someone like that. The Inquisitor wasn’t easily rattled – a handy trait for someone constantly flinging himself into mortal peril. But every man has his limits, and Seth didn’t always cope very well when they were reached. Dorian recalled how he’d received the news that Ellana and the rest of Clan Lavellan were on the brink of being slaughtered in Wycome. How chillingly detached he’d become.

_There’s nothing I can do about it, so there’s no point in worrying._

He couldn’t face the fear head on, so he locked it away. Severed his connection to it, making a virtual Tranquil of himself. Had he done something similar down here? If he had, could that connection be restored after all this time?

_One thing at a time, Pavus. Let’s just find him first, shall we?_

“We don’t know for certain he’s alone,” Rainier pointed out. “Maybe he found a way to get to Varric.”

“Another sneaky bugger, that one,” Sera said. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he made a deal of his own. That’s if he even needed to. I heard they stopped testing dwarves a while ago.”

“Oh?” Dorian twisted in his seat to glance at her. “Why?”

“They don’t change as fast as the others. Don’t get as sick or whatever. The experiments take ages, so they’ve got more dwarves than they need. That guard I made the deal with – when I asked him about Varric, he said most of the dwarves were working in the tunnels.”

That made sense. And as difficult as it was to imagine Varric with a pickaxe, it was a lot better than imagining him aglow with red lyrium.

“We’re almost there,” Cullen said, interrupting Dorian’s thoughts. “The site of the attack is just around the corner.”

The scavengers had already moved in, a pack of deepstalkers picking over the remains of men and darkspawn alike. Maggie had great fun chasing them off like a flock of seagulls – until they regrouped and circled back, at which point Dorian cast a blizzard to slow them down. Ellana and Sera let fly, careful to avoid Maggie as she tore into the horrid little things with abandon, completely unperturbed by the layer of frost bristling over her fur. By the time Cassandra and Rainier caught up, there were only a few stragglers left; Dorian didn’t even wait for them to be finished off before jumping down from the wagon.

“Now, then. Let’s see what we have.”

What they had was a bloody mess, a grisly tapestry of flesh and bone and scraps of clothing strewn about as if a tornado had torn through the place. The reek of darkspawn was overwhelming, turning Dorian’s stomach and forcing him to cover his face with his sleeve. But somehow, Maggie smelled through it, and she started whining again, just as she had before, tail wagging enthusiastically as she snuffled about. This time, Dorian trusted her with the task – though he kept a close eye on her, ready to freeze her on the spot if that was what it took to stop her sticking her nose in a puddle of Taint.

“Look here,” Ellana said, crouching. “This boot print. And here…” She crab-walked a few feet and inspected what was left of a shriek. “These are dagger wounds, and…” A grin was spreading across her face. “You were right, Dorian!”

“Even I can see it,” Cullen said, tilting his head. “Several people ran this way.” He pointed at a branching tunnel – more of a crevice, really, so dark and narrow that Dorian hadn’t even noticed it before.

Maggie was already bounding toward it, and Dorian wasn’t far behind. “Ellana, Cassandra, with me! The rest of you stay with the prisoners!” Before anyone could object, he plunged into the passageway, following Seth’s wolf at a jog.

“Dorian, wait!” Cassandra’s voice rang off the stone. “Now is not the time to be reckless! Slow down!”

She was right, of course. It would be ironic if he’d come this far only to be skewered by a marauding shriek. But Seth’s nearness taunted him like a desire demon, whispering at him from the shadows, just out of reach. His _amatus_ was nearby. He had to be. Dorian had crossed mountains and seas to get to him. He’d fought darkspawn and fanatics and a bloody _Blight bear_ and he wasn’t going to slow down now. Not when he was this close.

He was nearly out of breath when he reached a place where the tunnel branched. Maggie had started to go left, but she was doubling back now, and Dorian watched bemusedly as she started sniffing around the tunnel to the right.

“What’s going on?” Ellana trotted up, Cassandra right behind her. “Why are we stopping?”

“Maggie seems indecisive.” Dorian furrowed his brow. “Perhaps he’s passed through here more than once in the past few hours. I hope she—”

_BOOM._

An explosion rocked the tunnel – followed by another and another, each hard upon the last in a chain reaction that shook wave after wave of debris loose from above. A crack ran up the wall, forking like lightning and splitting the ceiling open in a dozen places at once.

That’s when the world started falling.

“ _Look out!_ ” Cassandra shoved Ellana aside just as the ceiling caved in, unleashing a torrent of rubble. Dorian dove one way, Cassandra another; Maggie yelped and skittered away. The roar was deafening, the pounding so concussive that Dorian could feel it in his bones. He threw a hasty barrier over his friends – and staggered as a hard blow struck the back of his head, sending a flash of white light through his vision. He folded his arms over his head, lurching this way and that as stone rained down all around him. There was nowhere to run, so he threw himself to the ground, curled up in a ball, and prayed he wasn’t about to be smashed into paste.

At last, the rumbling stopped. Dorian opened his eyes – for all the good it did him. It was pitch black. His ears rang, and his fingers were wet with blood. Gingerly, he touched the back of his head, but the wound didn’t seem to be too bad; he sent a pulse of healing magic through his fingertips to be safe.

He groped about in the dark for his staff, using it to lever himself to his feet. “Cassandra?”

The only sound was a patter of pebbles cascading down from above.

“Ellana? Maggie?”

Probing with his staff, Dorian met a ragged wall of stone. The tunnel had completely collapsed.

“Dorian?” The voice came from the far side of the cave-in, almost too muffled to make out. “Dorian, are you alive?”

“Barely. You?”

“We’re all right,” Ellana said. “The tunnel collapsed.”

_Oh, really? Collapsed, you say?_

“Can you clear the debris with magic?” Cassandra’s voice now, ever the pragmatic one.

“Risky. Shifting things around might cause another cave-in.” He cast a mage light, but its faint glow was barely enough to navigate by, let alone assess the damage. “I don’t dare. I’ll have to find another way.”

A pause, then Ellana’s voice again. “I found this tunnel on the map. We can meet you at the other end. But, Dorian… It’s a long way.”

Of course it was.

“I suppose I’d better get started, then. See you on the other side.” Sighing, Dorian shouldered his pack and set off.

He walked for what seemed like hours. The tunnel cut a meandering path, twisting and turning like a drunk who couldn’t find his way home. After a time, Dorian realized he was following an underground stream, its banks studded with deep mushrooms. By that point, it was the middle of the night, and he briefly considered making camp. But even if he set wards, he knew he’d never be able to sleep. He pressed on.

As time went by, the shadows seemed to take on a life of their own, scurrying at the edges of his vision. Dorian found himself talking just to fill the eerie silence.

“Oh, hello, Inquisitor. Fancy meeting you down here. By the way, what _are_ you doing in these fetid tunnels all alone? Why, something terribly heroic, of course - you? Oh, just chasing after you like a stray dog, don’t mind me. By the way, just a hunch, was it you who decided to blow up half the Deep Roads? Say, by stumbling across an entire wagonload of gaatlock? As a matter of fact, yes. Awfully clever of me, don’t you think? Well, _no_ , actually, since you nearly squashed the rest of us like spiders. Did I? Sorry about that, but you know how it is.”

His mage light was fading again, and he couldn’t afford to keep wasting mana on it. He paused, glancing at the deep mushrooms lining the tunnel floor. Would their light be enough? He extinguished the spell, and a soft blue glow filled the tunnel.

“Pretty. A wonder illumination by fungus hasn’t caught on in the great cities of the world.”

He resumed his journey, and his monologue.

“I wonder, Inquisitor, if you might consider letting someone else take care of the world-saving for a change? Thedas is positively littered with heroes, you know. None of them half so dashing as you, of course, but I thought perhaps it would be nice if your old friend Dorian could get through a single bloody year without contemplating your imminent demise. What do you say? Pretty please? _With a fucking cherry on top?_ ”

On and on he wandered, and still no sign of a destination. Perhaps this tunnel would never end. Perhaps he would continue walking for years, a lone hermit in a lost corner of the Deep Roads, hair down to his waist, beard braided like a dwarf’s and set with beads carved out of nug bone.

Eventually, he came to a fork in the tunnel. Which was just _smashing_ , because Ellana hadn’t mentioned a thing about it. He had no idea which to choose – was almost too exhausted to care – and he’d just decided to make camp when he spied a blue glow that looked slightly suspicious. Approaching cautiously, he found a cluster of deep mushrooms that looked too dense to be natural. It was almost as if—

Something flew at him the dark, tackling him and pinning him to the ground. A blade flashed, and cold metal pressed against his throat. The figure crouched on top of him was half animal, his pupils dilated like a predator’s. But Dorian had seen this face from every angle, in every sort of light, and he would know it anywhere. “Seth,” he whispered.

There was no recognition in those feral eyes. The blade pressed harder, threatening to break the skin. Dorian was afraid even to breathe.

“ _Amatus._ ”

He stared into those eyes, black as pitch, watching as the pupils gradually contracted into something sentient. The elf drew back, lowering the knife – but only a little. “Are you real?” he whispered.

Dorian’s throat was dry, but he swallowed past it. “I’m real if you are.”

The elf stared at him for a long moment. His hand started to tremble. Then the knife clattered to the ground and Seth swooped on him, taking Dorian’s face in his hands and kissing him so hard it hurt. Dorian clutched at him, a sob of relief on his lips, kissing Seth over and over, ignoring the pain in the back of his head and the pain of the mechanical hand pressing into his face and the pain of Seth’s knee planted perilously close to his groin, because this was all he’d ever wanted in the world and somehow he’d let himself forget it.

He couldn’t have said how long they stayed like that, trading desperate, half-sobbing kisses, but eventually the elf drew back, staring at Dorian as if he still couldn’t quite believe he was real.

Dorian knew the feeling. After months of dreaming about this man nearly every night, he’d found him at last. He wasn’t the same – he was thin, so thin, and pale to the point of translucence. His hair hung past his cheekbones in limp strands, and the dark circles under his eyes gave him a haunted look. But he was still the most beautiful creature Dorian had ever seen, and he couldn’t help brushing the back of his hand along the side of Seth’s face, toying with a lock of that beloved silver hair. Even if it did need a cut. Very badly.

“You said you liked it longer,” Seth said, as though reading his thoughts. He tried for a smile – and then his eyes grew haunted again, and his whole body started to shake.

Dorian had seen this before. He knew what to do.

Sitting up, he gathered the elf in his arms and held him, letting his love wash over his _amatus_ and waiting for the storm to pass.


	22. Chapter 22

“ _Ir abelas._ ” Seth had stopped shaking, but he still clung to Dorian, whispering the same words over and over again. “ _Ir abelas, ‘ma vhen’an. Ir tel’him._ ”

_I’m sorry. So sorry, my heart. I am myself again._

“ _Ir amahn_ ,” Dorian murmured. “I’m here.”

Seth drew back, his gaze falling to Dorian’s throat. Tentatively, he reached out, fingertips brushing the place where he’d held the knife. His touch stung a little, and Dorian realized the skin had been broken after all, if only just. Seth stared at the tiny smear of blood on his fingers in mute horror, and his hand started to tremble again.

“It’s all right,” Dorian said, though in truth he was more than a little unnerved himself. The man he loved had been a heartbeat away from slitting his throat. _No_ , he corrected himself. _It wasn’t Seth holding that blade. It was someone else – whoever, or whatever, he had to become to survive down here._ “It’s all right,” he said again, as much for himself as for Seth.

“It’s not. I almost…” Seth squeezed his eyes shut.

“But you didn’t, so let’s leave it there. It won’t do either of us any good to dwell on it.” They had more than enough to be getting on with as it was – starting with the pain at the back of Dorian’s head. Being tackled to the ground had not done his wound any favours; it was bleeding freely again, and he sent another pulse of magic through it. When his fingers came away bloody, Seth paled again, but Dorian made a mollifying gesture. “Don’t worry, this wasn’t you. Well… Actually, I rather suspect it was, if only indirectly, but we can talk about that later. Would you mind taking a look at it? I’d feel better if I knew what we were dealing with.”

Seth rummaged in his pack and retrieved a small torch, lighting it just long enough to examine Dorian’s wound. “It doesn’t look too bad,” he said, snuffing the flame before it drew unwanted attention. “But we should probably wash it out.”

“What, in _that_?” Dorian eyed the little stream meandering through the rocks. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Let’s hope so, since I washed in it myself about an hour ago.”

A less than comforting answer, but if you couldn’t trust a Dalish about such things, who could you trust? Dorian crouched by the water, and Seth used his cup to rinse the back of his head.

“Dorian… How are you here?” A note of disbelief still lingered in the elf’s voice, as if he half expected Dorian to vanish like a mirage.

Dorian hesitated. Should he tell it all in one go? Seth was obviously still fragile. How would he react to the news that his sister was in the Deep Roads? “It’s a long story,” he said carefully. “The most important thing for you to know right now is that Sera and Rainier are safe, and we hope Varric is, too.”

“He is,” Seth said, gently plucking a bit of dried blood from Dorian’s hair. “Or at least, he’s managing. I check on him as often as I can. They’ve got him working at the dig. I can’t get near him, but I think he knows I’m out there. Watching. Waiting. Trying to slow the enemy down as much as I can. What they’re doing down here, Dorian…”

“I know. And we’ll discuss it in detail, I promise, but can we just… take a moment?”

The elf lapsed into silence, filling the cup again and pouring it slowly over Dorian’s hair. The water was cool and soothing, and the fingers drifting over his scalp sent little shivers down his spine. Dorian closed his eyes, goosebumps rising along the nape of his neck. It had been years since he felt Seth’s touch – _really_ felt it – and he was completely unprepared for the ache of longing it kindled inside him.

Perhaps the elf sensed it, because his next words seemed designed to nip those feelings in the bud. “I’m sorry about the kiss. I was… overwhelmed.”

Dorian sighed inwardly. He’d known this was coming. Even in the moment, he’d known the kiss didn’t change anything. That it was an outpouring of emotion, an expression of relief as much as anything else. Things between them stood just as they had before all this began: mired in regrets and bittersweet memories, stranded in the place where love is not enough.

He’d known it, but it still hurt to hear it.

“I quite understand,” he said airily, sitting up and squeezing the excess water from his hair. “I’m irresistible at the best of times, and here you’ve been alone for however many weeks. I expect you’d have kissed Rainier, if he’d been the one to come along.”

Seth didn’t seem to know quite what to say to that. He glanced away awkwardly.

“In earnest,” Dorian said, dropping the false breeziness. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through these past few weeks. To be alone down here, amid all this horror…” He shook his head. “Unimaginable. I don’t know how you stayed sane.”

“I’m not sure I did. I’ve been going through the motions for a long time now. Acting purely on instinct.” Seth’s gaze fell. “As you witnessed firsthand. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“Yes, Maker forbid you should actually show a little vulnerability once in a while.” Dorian regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. _Bloody Void, Pavus, where did that come from?_ The last thing either of them needed right now was to start reopening old wounds. “I apologize,” he said. “It’s been a rather trying few days.” Even that felt like the wrong thing to say. As if anything he’d experienced could compare with what Seth had been through.

“I couldn’t afford to be vulnerable,” Seth said. “I didn’t dare. All those people… I couldn’t help them. Couldn’t do anything but listen to their screams…” He closed his eyes, shuddering.

“We’re vulnerable whether we like it or not,” Dorian said, a little more sharply than he’d intended. “We are mere mortals, Inquisitor. Even you. Fear and pain and all the rest of it – you can’t simply will it out of existence. The best you can do is defer it for a time, but that debt will come due eventually. It always does. In your case, with interest.”

“Maybe so, but it was necessary. I had no choice.”

 _There’s always a choice. You didn’t have to venture into the Deep Roads with a skeleton crew. You didn’t have to take this on at all. You could have let someone else take responsibility for a change. Let_ their _loved ones lie awake in fear every night…_ Dorian could feel black clouds building inside him, and the last thing he wanted was for his own storm to break. _What a hypocrite you are_ , he thought bitterly. _Lecturing him about letting his repressed emotions boil over when you’re about to blow yourself._

He shoved himself to his feet. “We should go.”

Seth blinked, taken aback. “Hold on a moment. You still haven’t told me anything. How did you—”

“I’ll explain on the way. There are people waiting for us.”

“But—”

“Ellana, for one.” So much for breaking the news gently. _Pulling with all oars today, aren’t we, Pavus?_

Seth went very still. “Dorian, what is my sister doing in the Deep Roads?”

“She’s fine. She’s with Cassandra and Maggie.”

“Ah. You brought Maggie, too.” He nodded slowly.

“I’ll tell you all about it while we walk,” Dorian said coolly. “In the meantime, one thing I do _not_ recommend is any suggestion that _I’ve_ been reckless.”

Seth stared at him for a long moment. Something flickered through his eyes – anger, or possibly hurt – but it was gone too quickly for Dorian to place. He rose and fetched his pack. Then he tore up a handful of deep mushrooms and offered some to Dorian.

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“They’re to see by,” the elf said, his tone utterly flat. He stuffed his in a sort of makeshift basket fashioned from the ribcage of a deepstalker, making a lantern of it. Then he shouldered his pack and turned away.

Dorian sighed. “Seth…”

“Just leave it, Dorian. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. Look, I’m exhausted and sore and I’ve spent the past three months wondering if you were alive or dead, so I trust you’ll understand if I’m a little frayed at the edges. Can we please just start again?”

Seth glanced at him. “At the part where I held a knife to your throat?”

He said it cool as you please, knocking the wind out of Dorian’s lungs.

“No, damn it. This part.” He took Seth’s face in his hands and kissed him – on the forehead this time, chaste and gentle, but full of feeling all the same. “You’re here. You’re safe. That’s enough.” _For now, at least._

He felt some of the tension go out of Seth’s shoulders, and they stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, recalibrating. “Thank you,” Seth whispered eventually.

Dorian drew back. “For what?”

“You came for me.”

Tears pricked Dorian’s eyes. “Of course I came for you, you stupid man.” Blinking furiously, he added, “Your sister would have murdered me otherwise. Now let’s go. She’s been through the Void and back trying to find you, and she shouldn’t have to wait one minute longer.”

Seth led the way through the darkness, the glow of his mushroom lantern glinting off walls slick with moisture. He moved with confidence, as if he knew every inch of these tunnels – which he probably did. Not only did he know them, Dorian realized, he’d made them his own: They hadn’t gone far before he said, “Careful here,” and sprang, graceful as a deer, over an innocent-looking patch of ground. At Dorian’s querying look, he reached down and lifted the corner of an animal skin concealed under a layer of dirt, revealing a pitfall lined with spikes made out of sharpened bones.

“So this is what you’ve been up to, is it?” Dorian did his best to keep his tone light. “Laying cunning little traps all over the Deep Roads? Rather glad I didn’t blunder into any of these myself.”

“They’re mostly set around places I camp. Anywhere the ground is soft enough for digging. A bit like setting wards, I suppose.”

“How did you even manage it? I don’t see any tools on you.”

“I stole a spade from the dig site. It’s hidden away at another camp. I keep my things dispersed, just in case.”

Dorian wasn’t sure whether he was impressed or disturbed. How many camps did the elf have hidden in these tunnels? How many caches of food and weapons? He’d have his preferred spots for drawing water, or bathing. For hiding the bodies of the men he’d killed. He’d learned to live down here, a creature of the dark. _That ends now_ , Dorian vowed. _Time to come back to the light._

“You said you’d explain everything,” Seth said over his shoulder as they walked. “I’m listening.”

So Dorian took him through it – a journey of three months, thousands of miles, oceans of tears, and several buckets of vomit.

He’d just got to the part about the fire at the inn when a dark beast hurtled out of the shadows toward them. Dorian cast a barrier just as the thing flung itself at Seth, practically bowling him over, but even the strange buzz of the spell wasn’t enough to keep a Knight’s Guardian from her long-lost master. Maggie yipped each time her paws crackled against the barrier, but she was undeterred, jumping up over and over, whining and dancing, turning excited little pirouettes that had Dorian laughing even as he dismissed the spell. Seth was scarcely less enthusiastic, wrapping his arms around the wolf’s neck in something that looked more like a wrestling move than a gesture of affection – and then it _was_ wrestling, and Maggie was growling and play-biting his shoulder, and then she peed.

“And here I thought our reunion was emotional,” Dorian said dryly.

“At least neither of us soiled ourselves,” Seth observed.

“It was a near thing.”

Seth was still ruffling Maggie’s fur, perfectly happy to let her lick his face. “I’m glad to see you, too, you goofy girl.” Sighing, he added, “And I dearly wish you weren’t here.”

“In my defence…”

Dorian never got to mount his defence, because a gasp at the far end of the tunnel drew both of their gazes. Ellana’s bow clattered to the ground as both hands went to her mouth in disbelief. For a second she just stood there, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. And then she flew into her brother’s arms, and Dorian couldn’t see the rest because there was something in his eye that caused them to water uncontrollably.

Cassandra had something in her eye too, and the two of them stood there, wiping their cheeks and sniffling while the siblings embraced and murmured to each other in Elven.

“I have always been allergic to animals,” Cassandra said, feigning an accusing look at Maggie. Then she smiled and squeezed Dorian’s shoulder. “You did it.”

“Blind luck,” he said.

“Not luck. The will of the Maker.”

 _And where was the Maker when all those people were being tortured with Taint and red lyrium?_ Dorian kept that to himself. It would rather spoil the mood.

Ellana drew back, her face wet with tears. Then she punched Seth in the ribs, hard enough for him to grunt. “ _Dirthara-ma._ I thought you were _dead_ , you bastard.”

“Hang on,” said Dorian. “If I’d known _that_ was allowed…”

Seth just shook his head and reached for Cassandra. “Your Holiness.”

“Stop that, or I will hit you for real.” She hugged him tight.

Ellana must have thought Dorian was feeling left out, because she wrapped her arms around him next. “Thank you,” she whispered, her breath still hitching. “Thank you.”

“Should we hug next, Cassandra?” Dorian asked.

“If you wish a knee in your groin, by all means.”

“Glad that’s settled. And what about the others – did you see them on your way here?”

Cassandra nodded. “We agreed to meet at the underground lake. When we left them, Cullen and the others were pulling apart the wagon to make litters. The weakest of the prisoners will be carried the rest of the way.”

“You freed some of the prisoners?” Seth looked surprised – and then understanding dawned. “The elven camp. That was you?” He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “Thank the gods.”

“Yes, the old gang’s nearly all back together,” Dorian said. “Now we just have to work out what to do about Varric.”

“As to that…” Seth’s features hardened, and Dorian caught a glimpse of the predator again. “I’ve had a long time to think about this. But until now, I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Does that mean you have a plan?” Cassandra asked.

“Wait a minute,” Dorian said languidly, examining his fingernails. “I thought I was in charge of this operation? I don’t know that I’m ready to give up command just yet.”

Seth arched an eyebrow. “ _You_ were in charge?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Inquisitor. I’ll have you know I make a fine commander.”

Seth laid a hand on the side of Dorian’s face and patted it gently. “No,” he said, and started walking. “Just no.”

Ellana laughed and threw an arm around Dorian’s shoulder. “Well, I thought you were brilliant. If you’d like to mount a coup, I’m with you.”

“Thank you, but this arrangement suits me just fine. Things are finally settling into place.”

“Careful, Dorian.” Seth glanced over his shoulder, his expression somewhere between grim and sheepish. “You might feel differently when I tell you the plan.”


	23. Chapter 23

_**INTERMISSION...** _

So, look, apologies for the false advertising (having this note show up as a new chapter), but I didn't see any way around it. I just wanted to drop a line to say DON'T GO ANYWHERE. I'm off camping for a few days with no internet, and while I'd very much hoped to get another chapter out before I left (in which case this note would have appeared at the end of the chapter), I'm not happy with where it's at and I care too much about this fic and about you as readers to put out a half-baked effort.

So.

It might be around a week before you see a new chapter. Sorry about that. I just wanted to give you all a heads-up so you didn't think I'd abandoned you, because I haven't and I won't. I just need a wee break.

Stay well and BRB.


	24. Chapter 24

“That is quite simply the _worst_ plan I have ever heard,” Dorian said.

Seth’s only reaction to this announcement was to send a pebble skipping across the lake.

“It’s like a Qunari opera. Each act is worse than the one before. It starts out vaguely alarming, becomes steadily more nauseating, and finally climaxes in an explosive orgasm of awful.”

Sera snort-giggled. “Orgasm.”

The others, meanwhile, exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from grim to fearful to deeply concerned for the Inquisitor’s mental health. Well… that last one was mostly Dorian, but that was only because he was the cleverest of the bunch.

The happy reunion of an hour ago already seemed a distant memory. Now they sat in a cluster at the edge of the lake, looking for all the world as if the Inquisition had reformed as an underground militia – literally. Nearby, the liberated prisoners roasted deep mushrooms over a small campfire, the low murmur of their voices echoing off the stone walls.

“I didn’t expect you’d be overly fond of the idea,” Seth said.

“I’m not _overly fond_ of Rivaini wines, Inquisitor. This is something else entirely.”

“Explosive orgasms aside,” Cassandra said with a wry glance in Dorian’s direction, “I share the mage’s concern.”

“It is risky,” Cullen added, putting himself solidly in the running for understatement of the year.

“It’s friggin’ daft, is what it is,” Sera said. “I’m in.”

Rainier hadn’t weighed in yet; he just sat there scratching his beard. Dorian told himself this was a sign of thoughtfulness rather than a raging case of lice, but he shifted a few feet to the left, just in case. “I’d like to hear more about the position we’re assaulting,” the Warden said at length. “What’s the layout of the site?”

Seth started to answer, but Dorian interrupted him. “Actually, I believe the layout is about to change, if it hasn’t already.”

“Oh?” The elf tilted his head. “Why is that?”

“Ellana, do you have the map?” She spread it out between them, and Dorian pointed to the dig site. “The Promisers are trying to reach the titan, yes? But this is at least a mile off target. Malkar doesn’t actually know where it is, does he?”

“Thankfully not,” Seth said. “But something tells me you think that’s changed.”

Dorian tried not to be distracted by the elf’s gaze, but it was difficult. The look of guarded curiosity in those blue-green eyes was so familiar, so very _Seth_. It was one of the first things that had drawn him to the Herald of Andraste. That quiet watchfulness, absorbing everything around him. Being a man of intellectual curiosity himself, Dorian had always admired it in others, and the way the elf wore it was _extremely_ attractive. Dorian would find himself fantasizing about having that watchful gaze on him while he demonstrated something interesting. A few of the more... _private_ applications of elemental magic, say. The things you could do with a carefully controlled pulse of cold, or even electricity...

_And speaking of fantasizing…_

Dorian realized he’d been staring – and everyone was staring at him.

_Where was I? Ah, yes, the end of the world._

He cleared his throat. “Yesterday, we found the corpse of a dead Legionnaire. He’d been tortured, and there was a note nearby suggesting that he’d revealed the location of something important. My guess? He gave them the Bastion of the Pure, if not the Wellspring itself.”

Seth closed his eyes briefly. Cassandra pressed her lips into a grim line. Rainier scrubbed a hand over his face and said, “Balls.”

“Our engineers reported that the Wellspring was sealed off years ago,” Cullen pointed out. “As if it were never there.”

“Nothing a bit of gaatlock won’t sort out,” Dorian said. “I’m guessing you didn’t manage to blow their entire store, Inquisitor.”

Seth shook his head. “They’ve still got some down at the site. It’s not far from the ruins of Heidrun Thaig. If they’ve found that ancient lift, it will be easy enough for them to ferry the miners and what’s left of the gaatlock to the Bastion of the Pure.”

“Can we destroy the lift?” Cullen asked.

“If they’ve found it, it’ll be heavily guarded,” Seth said. “And if they’ve already ferried Varric and the others down…”

“They’ll be trapped.” Rainier swore under his breath. “Maker forbid anything should be easy.”

“Before,” Ellana said, “when you all were talking about these Sha-Brytol – you said they attacked you at every turn. Won’t they attack the Promisers as well?”

Cullen sighed. “There, I’m afraid we might be the victims of our own success. The Inquisition and the Legion conducted joint patrols of that area for years afterward, mopping up the stragglers. Eventually, the Sha-Brytol were pushed out altogether. Who knows whether they even still exist?”

“Assuming Dorian is right,” Cassandra said, “what does it mean for our strategy?”

“It changes nothing,” Seth said. “The excavation is the main part of Malkar’s operation, and it’s guarded accordingly. Carta. Red Templars. Anointed. We can’t just storm their position. We don’t have the numbers.”

“He’s right,” said Rainier. “We learned that lesson the hard way, and most of us ended up dead or behind bars.”

“We stick with the plan,” Seth said. “We might have to adjust some of the details to suit the new terrain, but the overall strategy will be the same.”

“You mean the strategy where you take on the dodgiest bit all on your own?” Dorian asked coolly.

Seth met his eye again, and this time the flicker of anger was unmistakable. “It’s not as if I enjoy putting myself at risk, Dorian.”

“Isn’t it? I wonder.”

“ _Rrrgh_ , just quit already,” Sera growled. “Awkward lovers’ spat – annoying. Awkward lovers’ spat while we’re all crammed up the arse end of the world – _proper_ annoying. Next round earns a punch for each of you, yeah?”

“It is not a _lovers’ spat_ ,” Dorian said, somewhat inaccurately. “It is a rather crucial disagreement on the question of tactics.”

“I’m eager to hear your suggestions, Dorian,” Seth said.

Ellana’s gaze shifted between them, as if she was trying to decide whether to mediate. “We all seem to agree the plan is risky. At a minimum, we should get a look at the new dig site before we commit ourselves. That seems only prudent, doesn’t it?”

Seth nodded slowly. “Fair enough. It will take me most of the day, but I’ll report back—”

Ellana didn’t even let him finish. “Nice try, _Inquisitor_ , but I’m coming with you.” Without waiting for a reply, she sprang to her feet and grabbed her bow.

Seth hesitated, but he must have decided it would be pointless to argue, because he just sighed and reached for his pack.

“Are we sure this is the best course?” Cullen asked, looking worried. “For either of you, I mean? If the area is crawling with Red Templars and Anointed…”

“It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” Seth said. Rising, he went over to where the freed prisoners were sitting and pushed a broken bit of wood through the ashes of their campfire. Ellana joined him, and the two of them rubbed soot all over their too-white skin. Then Ellana took off her cloak and handed it to her brother, and he pulled the hood up over his silver hair.

Rainier grunted, impressed. “Half invisible already.”

 _It’s the other half that worries me_. Dorian knew better than to say it aloud; it would only make him sound like a petulant child.

Seth murmured something to Maggie. The wolf whined in protest, but she lowered herself onto her belly. To the rest of them, he said, “Get some sleep, if you can. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

And then they were gone, and all Dorian could do was sit on his arse and worry.

Again.

* * *

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Ellana said in Elven as the glow of the campfire receded behind them.

Seth didn’t respond. He was still adjusting to being a real person again. Discussing his ex with his baby sister just wasn’t something he was ready for.

Alas, Ellana didn’t seem to care whether he was ready or not. “He’s afraid for you.” Still in Elven, to make sure he really heard it.

“I know.”

There was a stretch of silence, as if Ellana was waiting for him to say more. When he didn’t, she added, “He loves you, Seth.”

“I know,” he said softly.

More silence. Ellana frowned. “Creators, you’re frustrating,” she said, switching back to the common tongue.

He sighed. “What do you want me to say, Ellana? It’s nothing new. Dorian has been afraid of losing me since the day we met. It’s what came between us in the end.”

“But maybe if you talked to him. _Really_ talked, I mean. Because I did, and I got the impression that he didn’t fully understand what you were going through back then. But I think he does now, and—”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s in the past.”

“So that’s it? You just give up?”

“Don’t.” He said it mildly enough, but he cut her a sidelong look to sear it in place. “You have no idea how hard I tried to make it work.”

“I guess I don’t,” she said in that combative tone Seth knew only too well. It signalled the beginning of one of Ellana’s famous rants, the kind you just had to wait out. He’d been weathering these storms since they were children. It was, he reflected wryly, excellent training for his future dealings with a certain hot mess of a mage.

“I don’t know anything about what it takes to make a relationship like that work,” she said. “How could I? I’ve never had what you had. I’m not sure I’ve even seen it before.”

“What would you know about it?” he said irritably. “You weren’t even there.”

“Maybe not, but I had your letters. I still do. Maybe I should show them to you sometime. Refresh your memory.”

Seth laughed hollowly. As though it needed refreshing. As though his memories weren’t walking alongside him every day, whispering in his ear like some misguided version of Cole, forcing him to relive the hurt over and over.

“The way you wrote about him,” Ellana went on. “The language you used… For the longest time I thought, whoever this Dorian person is, he couldn’t possibly match that love. How could he? A human? A _Tevinter_? I was sure you were finally going to get a dose of your own medicine.”

He growled under his breath. “Not this again. You act like I ran around breaking hearts.”

“You broke your share, brother dear.” When he started to argue, she cut him off. “You _did_ , Seth, whether you meant to or not. You didn’t even realize it, because it was so far removed from your own experience. You’d never had your feet swept out from under you, so how could you possibly imagine what it was like to feel that way and know that the other person wasn’t there with you? I watched it happen time and again. It’s not your fault – I’m not saying it is – but when I read your letters, I thought you would finally see what it was to love someone more than they love you. That Dorian would be the one to show you. But I was wrong.” She shook her head. “ _So wrong._ The way he looks at you. The way he talks about you. He’s drowning in it, Seth. You both are. And I can see why. You’re perfectly suited. The way you balance each other… Maybe you can’t see it anymore, but—”

“I see it.” Gods, sometimes it was all he could see. That only made it hurt more. “Please, Ellana, I can’t do this right now.”

She drew a breath, and Seth braced himself for another volley, but in the end she took pity on him and just sighed. “You’re right, this isn’t the time. But we’re having this conversation, you and I, when this thing is done.”

“I’ll mark it in my schedule,” he said dryly.

“You do that, _Inquisitor_.”

Seth shook his head. Some things never changed. Ellana had been hounding him about his relationships for as long as he could remember, and it was always the same. Whatever happened, however it ended, it was his fault. He didn’t feel enough. He didn’t speak enough. He didn’t _something_ the way he ought to have, and one day somebody was going to come along and break his heart, et cetera and so on. It didn’t surprise him to learn that she thought – perhaps even hoped – Dorian Pavus would be the Chosen One foretold in this little prophecy of hers.

Then again, maybe he was. Maybe their meeting wasn’t fate, as Seth had once believed, but karma. His long-awaited comeuppance, served in a steaming pot of Tevinter sass.

The thought brought a wry smile to his lips.

“I just want you to be happy,” Ellana piped up again, being almost as allergic to silence as Dorian. “You deserve that, after everything you’ve been through. And true love… that doesn’t come along every day. Some people go through their whole lives without even falling in love, or if they do, it’s too late, and…” She trailed off.

Seth frowned. He started to ask what she meant – and then he froze, every hunter’s sense alert.

“What—?”

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her into a crouch against the wall. She started to ask another question, but he clamped a hand over her mouth. His blade flashed, poised and ready. He was distantly aware that his sister was looking at him as if he were a complete stranger, but he didn’t have time to process that now. When he was sure of her silence, he released her and drew another dagger, his gaze raking the shadows as he listened.

Ellana heard it now too – a strange, rustling sound, like distant whispers tumbling off the stone. She frowned, tilting her head.

An angry red glow lit the stone at the far end of the tunnel, as if a phalanx of torches was making its way toward them. But this was no firelight. This was a red unlike any other, sickening, singing, seeping like blood into every crevice of the stone. Seth could feel its approach as a prickle along his skin; could hear it in the dissonant _hum_ beneath the drone of a hundred wings. Once, that song had been inaudible to him. A vague threat he knew in his head but not in his heart. But seeing the effect it had on his beloved – the sweat it brought to his brow, the tiny creases of pain around his eyes – had taught Seth to listen. To _hear_.

Once you heard the song of red lyrium, you could never unhear it. And it was hurtling toward them at speed.

“ _Get down!_ ”

He covered Ellana’s body with his own just as it broke over them: a shrieking blizzard of crystalline bats bristling with blood-red shards as delicate as frost. Razor-edged wings shredded his leathers; fangs of red lyrium sought his scalp. Seth swung out blindly with his artificial hand, shattering a pair of them like glass, but they just kept coming, the piercing _hum_ of their crystal wings ringing inside his skull, bringing tears to his eyes.

Ellana crouched beneath him, arms folded over her head – and then she cried out, and Seth’s heart froze in his chest. He swung out again, over and over, using his mechanical hand like a cudgel; shattered crystal rained down around them. And then, as suddenly as it had come upon them, it was over. The ringing receded, the sickening glow dimming as the flock moved on.

Ellana raised her head, eyes wide as she watched the roiling cloud of wings retreating down the passageway.

Seth’s chest was so tight he could hardly breathe. “Let me see it.”

Her gaze fell to the arm she was cradling. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch—”

“ _Let me see it._ ” He grabbed her arm, and there it was: not a scratch at all, but a tiny crystalline claw embedded in her flesh. He plucked it out and threw it as far away as he could, and then he brought his mouth to the pinprick of blood and sucked as if it were a snake bite.

“It’s venomous?” she whispered.

Seth spat and sucked again.

“I think you… _Ow_!” She jerked her arm away. “Easy there, Inquisitor! Pretty sure you got it all!”

He grabbed her again and ran a thumb over the wound, again and again. _Please. Please let it be all right…_

“Seth.”

_Please, Creators, I can’t. I can’t…_

“ _Seth._ ” Ellana took him by the shoulders and shook him gently. She was looking at him like a stranger again. Like she was afraid. “ _Atish’an, isa’ma’lin_. It’s all right. _Ma melava halani._ ”

He blinked, and for a moment he just stared at her, as if he were waking from a dream. Then he swore a blistering oath and dropped onto his rump, pushing his hands through his hair.

Ellana started to reach for a shattered bit of wing before wisely thinking better of it. “Look at all these claws. Like little saw blades. What manner of bats are these?”

He shook his head, forcing himself to think like a real person again. “Corrupted ones. They must have been living in the cave where Malkar stores his red lyrium. Either that, or they were part of his experiments.”

She shuddered. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Neither did I.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Did you see which way they went?”

“Left at the fork. The others should be safe.” She was quiet for a moment. Then: “How much would it have taken? For me to get sick, I mean?”

“I don’t know, but I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Do you think there might be more of them?”

“Maybe.” Seth rubbed his eyes. Gods, he was tired. _So tired._ “I don’t know.”

“ _Fenedhis_.” Ellana hugged her knees to her chest, looking uncharacteristically solemn. “This world saving business is tough.”

“It is,” he agreed, shoving himself to his feet and offering her a hand. “And you haven’t seen the half of it yet.”


	25. Chapter 25

Brother and sister returned to the underground lake looking ragged – and too grim by half. Something had obviously happened. Something that frightened them both. And unless Dorian was much mistaken, most of that fear was for each other. Seth’s gaze was haunted, and Ellana kept cutting her brother worried looks out of the corner of her eye.

“Your armour,” Cassandra said, gazing at Seth’s shredded vambraces in disbelief. “Those are dragon scale, are they not?”

“They were.” Seth glanced down at them with a sigh. “Now they’re just tassels.”

“Fetching,” Dorian said. “Best not let anyone on the surface see that. They’ll think it’s a fashion statement, and the next thing you know, everyone in Orlais will be wearing fringes.”

Cassandra scowled. “This is serious, Dorian.”

“Oh, I know. Have you ever seen a man in fringed breeches? _Extremely_ distressing.”

He was doing himself no favours with the Divine, of course. But this banter wasn’t for her, or even for himself. This was for Seth. The Inquisitor had spent years listening to this sort of breezy nonsense from his lover. It was familiar. _Normal._ Seth desperately needed a bit of normal right now. Something that tied him to a time when he’d been happy.

 _A time when we were both happy._ Dorian could hardly remember what that felt like. Which was probably for the best. Harder to crave something when the taste of it is all but forgotten.

“The question I am asking,” Cassandra said with mounting impatience, “is how dragon scale could end up in such a state.”

“Bats.” Seth ran a hand through his hair with such bleak weariness that Dorian ached to hold him. “Corrupted with red lyrium.”

“They were covered in crystal,” Ellana said. “Razor-sharp. Like a thousand throwing knives whipping past us all at once.”

“Red lyrium bats.” Cullen sighed. “Why not?”

“Malkar’s experiments, no doubt," said Rainier. “He’ll want to see how every animal in creation reacts to that poison.”

“So he will claim,” Cassandra said. “But I know Aerion Malkar. It is not knowledge he wants, but power. These experiments allow him to play at being the Maker, and he enjoys it. Which means there could be more corrupted creatures down here, in who knows what monstrous form.”

A grim silence settled over the group. Then Sera said, “Talking of weird little beasties, did you find Varric?”

Seth nodded, his eyes meeting Dorian’s. “You were right. The Promisers have made their way to the Bastion of the Pure.”

“It’s just as you described it,” Ellana added, giving Dorian a little smile. “It really is beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? In a _we’re-never-getting-out-of-here-alive_ sort of way. So what does this mean for your plan, Inquisitor?”

“Well, the good news is, I’m no longer taking on the most dangerous part.”

Dorian gave a hollow laugh. “Shall I guess what the bad news is?”

“Our part is going to be a little trickier than before,” Ellana said, her smile stretching thin. “We’re not going to be able to circle behind the camp. They’ve got the miners tucked up right against the cavern wall, with archers posted on the ledge behind them. It’s a semicircle with only one way in.”

“I’m no rogue, but it seems to me that sneaking in the front door is going to be tad tricky.”

“Exactly,” Seth said. “Which is why you’ll be dropping in from above.”

“ _Dropping in?_ What, like a spider? Like a giant, Dorian-shaped arachnid with magical powers and a brilliant sense of fashion?” He scowled. “You are aware that mages can’t fly, Inquisitor?”

“To be fair,” Ellana said, “it’s not really dropping in so much as climbing down.”

“ _Much_ better.” Dorian growled and rubbed his eyes. He could picture it all too vividly, and the mere thought was enough to turn his knees to jelly. “Just how do you expect us to climb down a hundred feet of sheer rock face – which rock, I feel compelled to add, is slicker than an eel’s arsehole – and drop into a heavily-guarded camp unseen?”

“Do eels have arses?” Sera asked no one in particular.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Ellana said. “For the most part.”

Well, _that_ was certainly comforting.

“We’ve made some modifications to the diversion as well,” Seth said. “It’s going to be tough to pull off, but the result will be worth it.”

“And your part?” Cullen asked. “Any changes there?”

Seth shook his head. “Malkar hasn’t moved the red lyrium yet. My guess is he’ll wait until he’s found the Wellspring. I’ll listen for the signal on your end, and then I’ll bury his entire store in rubble.”

“The signal?” Cullen cocked his head, frowning.

“One of the modifications. I’ll explain everything once we’ve had a chance to clean up and get something to eat.”

Cullen didn’t look convinced. “But you’re not going to be anywhere near us. How will you hear it?”

Seth’s mouth curved in something just short of a smile. “Trust me, Cullen, this signal will be heard halfway to Highever.”

* * *

Dorian sat with his back to the cavern wall, absently grinding the end of his staff into the dirt. The others were gathered around the fire roasting mushrooms, but he had no appetite, and apparently neither did Ellana, because she slumped down beside him with a sigh.

“It’s mad,” Dorian muttered. “But I suppose it’s the only way.”

Ellana didn’t answer. She was too busy watching her brother, wearing that worried expression again. “He’s not himself,” she said in a low voice.

“No.” Dorian went on scraping the dirt with his staff. “But how could he be? He’s spent the past six weeks living like a wild animal.”

“It’s more than that. He feels responsible for what happened to those people. For Varric and Sera and Rainier, too.”

“The price of being the saviour. It’s nothing new to him, alas.”

“Was he like this during the Inquisition?”

Dorian glanced up, his gaze following Seth as he went to the edge of the lake to wash the soot off his face. Even now, there was a tension in the elf's posture. A coiled readiness, as though he was braced for something to strike at them from the shadows. “No,” he said softly. “He had his moments, but… not like this.”

Ellana was quiet a moment, absorbing that. “He’ll bounce back. He always does.”

Something about the way she said it caught Dorian’s attention. “What do you mean? Have you seen him like this before?”

“Not exactly, but… Something similar.” She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, as though the memory made her uncomfortable. “That scar on his left shoulder — did he ever tell you how he got it?”

Dorian shook his head. “He has quite a few now. I suppose I stopped asking. There’s a story behind it, I take it?”

“When Seth was eleven or twelve, he had an… incident… with some humans in the woods.”

Dorian swallowed hard. Already, he didn’t like where this was going.

“He used to go for these long walks on his own, and one day, he came across a pair of humans fishing in the river. They’d been so quiet he didn’t realize they were there until it was too late. He started to run away, but they called to him, and they seemed friendly enough. They weren’t having any luck, and they asked him if he could show them how the Dalish fish.” She shook her head. “He should have left them alone, but he was fascinated with humans back then. And Clan Lavellan – we’d generally had friendly dealings with the humans in the area, so he hadn’t learned to be as distrustful as some Dalish.”

“He helped them.”

She nodded. “He showed them how to fish. And they were sweet to him. Gave him honey biscuits. Called him _Little Halla_. Because of his hair, I suppose.” She shrugged. “And maybe it would have been fine, but then they started drinking. And drinking. And then a third human turned up, even drunker than the first two, and he was in a foul temper because he hadn’t had a successful hunt. So Seth offered to show him how the Dalish hunt.”

Dorian sighed. He could picture it so clearly. Sweet, innocent Seth, thinking he was being helpful. The hunter, his fragile male pride already wounded, having an eleven year-old boy offer to show him how it was done.

“The hunter said he knew what he was doing just fine, thanks, and he would prove it.” A tremor in her voice now, whether rage or grief, Dorian couldn’t tell. “He said, _I’ll give you a head start, and then we’ll see how well I hunt._ He put an arrow to his bow. And the next thing Seth knew, they all had their bows pointed at him. _Run, Little Halla_ , they told him. So he ran, and they chased him, and they tried to shoot my brother in the back.” She paused, drawing a long, shaking breath. “They hunted him for almost two hours. Laughing. Mocking. Calling out to him. _Where are you, Little Halla?_ They almost got him, too. They nicked his shoulder, but he…” She trailed off. “Dorian…”

“Yes?”

“Your fingers are on fire.”

Dorian glanced down. His fingers were on fire.

He flicked his wrist, dismissing the spell. It had been a very long time since _that_ happened. He almost never lost control of his magic, and when he did, it was in the heat of passion. The heat of rage hadn’t called flame to his fingertips since… Well, since he was eleven or twelve, coincidentally enough. “Pay it no mind,” he growled. “This story makes me want to burn something down, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry. It’s an awful story. I didn’t even hear the full version until years later. At the time, all I really knew was that something upsetting had happened to my brother, and that terrified me, because of course my brother didn’t _get_ upset. He was always so…”

“Serene,” Dorian murmured.

“Yes, exactly. But for weeks after that, he was anything but. He barely spoke a word. Had terrible nightmares. Saw those hunters in every shadow, as if he was convinced they were still out there somewhere. But things went back to normal eventually. He started taking his walks again, and even collecting human junk the way he used to. He recovered. That’s the point of my story, Dorian.” She squeezed his arm. “He bounced back. He always does.”

 _He bounced back._ That was putting it mildly. He didn’t just recover, he _forgave_. Enough to let the humans make him their holy Herald. Enough to save their empires and their cities. Enough, even, to give one of them his heart, unreservedly and without fear.

Dorian’s own heart was in his throat. _Every time I think I couldn’t love this man any more…_

“Dorian, are you...?”

“I'm fine, thank you.” His voice was rough. “I’m just thinking about recovering, that’s all. Sometimes, it’s not possible.” He would never recover from this love. If he hadn’t known it ten minutes ago, he knew it now, without a flicker of doubt.

Not that it changed anything. Though on the bright side, they were probably all going to die, so it didn’t much matter anyway.

“We just need to get him out of this place,” Ellana said. “And then everything will be fine.”

Did she really believe that? If so, Dorian wasn’t going to take that away from her.

Seth had finished washing up now, and he walked over to them. “Are you two conspiring?” he asked in an unconvincing attempt at levity.

“Actually,” Ellana said, “I was just telling Dorian some stories from your childhood.”

“Dear gods.” Seth’s glance shifted to Dorian. “I’m sorry.”

Dorian tried to muster something flippant, but he couldn’t. His heart was just too full. All he could do was meet Seth’s gaze, and whatever the elf saw there, it moved him to silence. Ellana suddenly found a reason to be elsewhere, and then it was just the two of them.

“Are you all right?” Seth asked.

“Not even a little. But I fear that is a conversation for another time. Are you sure about this, Seth? Going off on your own?”

“I’ve been alone down here for a long time. I work better that way. And besides – Malkar won’t be expecting it. He probably doesn’t even know I’m here, and if he does, he’ll assume I’m going after the prisoners, just like always. If anything, that means you’re the one in danger.”

“We’re all in danger.”

“True enough.” Seth sighed. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Seth…”

The elf waited, but Dorian couldn’t find the words. There was just too much.

There was always too much.

“Let’s get Varric and finish this,” Seth said, and all Dorian could do was nod.

* * *

“How many?”

Aerion Malkar sighted down the length of the blade, examining it with a critical eye. The tranquil’s last attempt had left much to be desired, but this was an altogether more credible effort. The lyrium sang softly as he rotated his wrist, swinging the crystalline blade in a glowing red arc.

Krellis still hadn’t answered him. A bad sign.

“How many?” Malkar repeated mildly.

The Anointed shifted on his feet. “All of them, my lord Redeemer. The whole camp. Which means… Well, my lord, it means we have no elves at all.”

Malkar sighed and swung the blade again. So much lighter than a conventional longsword. It would take some getting used to, but he’d always enjoyed a challenge. “It’s him,” he said. “Lavellan.”

“Some of the men whisper his name,” Krellis said, “but I think that’s just campfire tales. Nobody has actually seen him.”

“Of course they have, Krellis. They just haven’t lived to tell the tale.” He sheathed the blade and folded his hands behind his back, pacing as much as the narrow confines of the room allowed. He would have preferred more space in his personal study, but these ruins were cramped, and he needed to reserve the larger rooms for his experiments. “I wasn’t certain before, but I’m certain now. It’s Lavellan, and he has help. You know what that means.”

“He’ll be coming for the dwarf.”

“Yes. And no.” One had to hand it to the Inquisitor: he was singularly resourceful. Merely surviving on his own down here was impressive. His campaign of sabotage and murder had proven highly frustrating. But using the darkspawn as decoys to launch his raids? Ingenious. A pity such a rare creature had to be crushed. He would have made a fine addition to the New World, if his heart had not been corrupted by his heathen upbringing. “Lavellan is too clever to tip his hand for anything less than his true objective.”

Krellis knit his brow. “Meaning what, my lord?”

“ _Someone_ is coming for the dwarf, certainly. That rabble our Carta friends spotted a few days ago, most likely. Divine Victoria and the magister and the rest. But Lavellan – _he_ will be out to destroy us entirely. Which means he’ll be coming for this.” He picked up a red lyrium arrowhead and waggled it meaningfully. “He’s still got those barrels of gaatlock he stole. Buried them somewhere, no doubt, like a clever little squirrel. He’ll try to do to us what he did to Samson. Cut off our lyrium supply.”

“That would leave us vulnerable, my lord.”

“It would be catastrophic, in point of fact. Which is why we must ensure it does not happen.” Malkar picked up another weapon, a red lyrium dagger with a saw-toothed blade. A graceful thing, and lovely. Lavellan would appreciate such a weapon, he felt sure. “We are too close to falter now, my brother. That means we must think like generals rather than soldiers. Lord Seeker Lucius underestimated his enemy, as did Corypheus. The Inquisitor will expect me to do the same – and that will be his downfall.”

“Shall I reinforce our defences here, then?”

“As quickly as you can. The miners are easily replaced. The lyrium is precious. Divert some of your Anointed to this location at once. In the meantime, let us take a page from Lavellan’s book and open up the menagerie. If my pets are as effective as I expect them to be, we won’t even need those reinforcements.”

Krellis glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the menagerie. The Anointed animals made him nervous. They made all the men nervous – as well they might. They were unpredictable and untested, and their temperaments decidedly volatile. Malkar honestly had no idea what they were capable of in combat. What even a scratch from their Anointed claws might do to a slight creature like Setheneras Lavellan.

It would be a fascinating experiment.


	26. Chapter 26

“What are you thinking about?”

Seth’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding oddly flat in the confines of the tent. The soft glow of hundreds of campfires seeps through the canvas, throwing moving shapes along the walls as men and animals stir outside. Dorian must have dozed off, because it takes him a moment to place his surroundings. _The Western Approach_ , his muzzy brain supplies. _The attack on Adamant Fortress begins tomorrow._ But something isn’t quite right. Should he be here, in the Inquisitor’s tent? They’re careful about such things. Keeping up appearances and all that. But they must have decided to make an exception for tonight, because here he is, curled up with his _amatus_ in the heart of the Inquisition camp.

“Dorian, are you awake?”

_I’m not entirely sure._

Aloud, he says, “Hard to sleep with all that activity outside. As to what I’m thinking…” He starts to give an earnest answer, but loses his nerve at the last moment. “I’m deciding on my outfit for tomorrow. What does one wear to a siege? So many things to consider. Lighting. All the different angles people will be seeing you from. And then of course there’s breathability. Hard to look dashing when you’re dripping in sweat.”

“Good to know your priorities are in place. Though I might suspect you of being something less than sincere with that answer.”

“Oh? Whyever should you doubt me?”

“Because you’re holding me so tight I can hardly breathe.”

He is, isn’t he? Dorian loosens his grip.

“I didn’t say you should stop,” the elf says quietly.

Dorian pulls him closer, and the feel of that warm body in his arms soothes an ache he didn’t even know he had. “If you must know,” he murmurs, “I’m thinking that I adore you to tiny little pieces. And that if anything happens to you tomorrow, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Seth sighs. “Well, then. At least we’re on the same page.”

“We always are.”

There’s a stretch of silence, broken only by a smatter of tense laughter from somewhere nearby. The men are nervous about the attack, as well they should be. “I need you to promise me something,” Seth says at length. “Whatever happens tomorrow, the mission comes first. I can’t have you doing something foolish to protect me.”

“I, do something foolish? Perish the thought.”

“I mean it, Dorian. If I fall, I need to know that you’ll carry on. Do what needs to be done.”

Dorian’s arms jerk involuntarily around the lean frame folded against him. The elf feels so fragile all of a sudden, so fine-boned he could break. “You’re not going to fall.”

“But if I do…”

“I’ll carry on,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper. “You have my word.”

Another stretch of silence. Seth rolls over, meeting Dorian’s gaze. “I want you to know that these past few months have been…” He pauses, as if searching for the right words. “I’ve never felt this way before. I know I’ve said that already, but I mean it in a way I’m not sure you entirely understand.”

“Of course I understand, you silly man. Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever locked his heart away?”

“That’s just it. I didn’t. My heart has always been open to love. It just… never found it until now. So if tomorrow is… If it’s my time, I just want you to know that you gave that to me, and I’m so grateful.” He brushes his lips across Dorian’s. Then he rolls over and nestles back into the curve of Dorian’s body, wrapping his arms over top of his lover’s and squeezing tight.

Dorian doesn’t know what to say. He presses soft kisses to the nape of Seth’s neck, drinking in the elf’s scent and trying very hard not to lose his composure entirely.

 _It can’t be his time_ , he thinks. _Or mine. It would be too cruel._ The Maker wouldn’t create two souls so perfectly matched only to rip them apart. _This is a test_ , he thinks. _So we won’t ever take each other for granted. So we’ll understand what we have and fight for it always._

“I love you,” he whispers, and Seth’s arms tighten in response. “I love you.” He says it over and over. “I love you, I love you…”

* * *

Dorian woke with the elf’s scent in his nose and an aching absence where a warm body had been only moments before. The only thing worse than having a dream like that the night before a battle was knowing that it hadn’t actually happened that way.

The conversation had taken place, or something like it. But it hadn’t been in Seth’s tent, twined comfortingly around each other. And Dorian hadn’t whispered his love over and over; hadn’t said it even once. He’d wanted to, but it felt too raw, too frightening. So he’d done what he always did, relying on poignant looks and stolen kisses to do the work for him. Later, in those horrible moments when he was sure Seth wasn’t following them into the Fade, he’d regretted it bitterly. _I’ve lost him_ , he remembered thinking. _I’ve lost him, and I didn’t say the words. Not enough, not when it counted._

Seth had been spared that day. Spared again in the Arbor Wilds, and at the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He’d been spared in the Winter Palace, after they’d stepped through the eluvian and his left hand had vanished, leaving him on his knees in a pool of his own blood. Inquisitor Lavellan had used up more lives than a felicitous feline, and he was about to roll the dice yet again.

Well, Dorian was through rolling the dice, trusting fate would grant him one more chance to say what he needed to say. So he washed up and forced down a few bites of food, and then he cornered his ex.

“I need to talk to you.”

Seth shifted awkwardly. “I’m not sure this is the time.”

“This might be the only time we have. Besides, I intend to be brief. Three words, in fact.” He took the elf’s face in his hands. “I love you, Seth.”

Seth stared at him in silence for a painfully long moment. “That’s four words,” he said with a weak smile.

Dorian wasn’t in the mood for deflections. “It might be awkward for you to hear, or painful. I’m afraid that’s just too bad. I’m through pretending I can get past this. I can’t and I won’t.” Seth started to reply, but Dorian held up a hand. “I’m not asking anything of you, least of all comforting platitudes. I know this doesn’t change anything. I just refuse to let you walk away without telling you what’s in my heart. I’ve done it too many times. If these are the last words I ever have the chance to say to you, I want them to be this: I love you, and I always will.”

“I…” Seth faltered. His gaze fell, and he shook his head. “I have so many regrets,” he said softly. “But you’re right, this shouldn’t be one of them.” He lifted his eyes to Dorian again. “I love you, and I always will.”

Dorian drew a shaky breath. “There, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He pressed a rough kiss to Seth’s forehead. “Now, let’s get this thing done, shall we?” He turned away before the elf could answer, before the look in those blue-green eyes undid him completely.

They had a world to save.

* * *

 _Vir Assan._ Be swift and silent.

Seth moved through the tunnel at a run, his borrowed cloak flapping softly as he leapt over broken pillars and fallen rock, keeping an eye out for the telltale clusters of deep mushrooms that marked the site of one of his traps. He had a lot of ground to cover while the others got into position. The ruins where Malkar had made his den were more than two miles away, and there was no time to lose: already, the soft _boom_ of distant explosions could be heard, sending the occasional shower of dust over him. Excavations had begun in the Bastion of the Pure. So he kept up the pace even as the ground began to slope uphill – gently at first, and then steeply. He’d grown thin, but his body was taut as a bowstring, his lungs well accustomed to exertion. He wouldn’t tire, and neither would his hunting partner. Maggie streaked along behind him, yellow eyes flashing in the dark, every inch the predator now.

 _Vir Adahlen._ Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness.

Mindfulness had always come naturally to Seth, but it eluded him today. Hard to be mindful when you couldn’t stop thinking about your ex.

_I love you, and I always will._

Was that really the best he could do? With so much else that needed to be said? If these past weeks had taught him anything, it was that this wound wasn’t going to heal on its own. He’d spent the last two years imagining that he was recovering, however slowly. But that was an illusion. He hadn’t been recovering, he’d been hibernating, and seeing Dorian again was all it took to get the blood flowing once more. Seth remembered what it was to _want_ … and also what it was to bleed.

 _Vir Bor'assan._ As the sapling bends, so must you.

If he couldn’t be mindful, he could at least be angry. Put all that pent-up emotion to good use. And few things were more cathartic than setting off a massive explosion.

He’d already led Cullen to the first stash of gaatlock he’d squirrelled away. The second was just ahead, and he slowed, prizing silence above all else now. The last thing he needed was to startle a nug and send it squealing up the tunnel, giving away his position.

Except he hadn’t seen any nugs, he realized belatedly. Not for an hour or more. No deepstalkers. Not even a spider.

_Strange._

Seth crouched, examining the ground for spoor. Nugs had been through here recently, at least; piles of droppings glistened in the corners, and the creepy little handprints they left in the dust were fresh. There were other tracks here too, he realized, crisscrossing over top of those left by the nugs. One set he’d never seen before, but another…

_It can’t be. Down here?_

Drawing a dagger, Seth continued along the tunnel. He hadn’t gone far when he spied the first spray of blood arcing along the wall, as though something had been tossed about by a powerful set of jaws. Maggie sniffed at it – and then growled low in her throat, the fur bristling along her spine.

Deepstalkers? But no – Maggie wouldn’t get her hackles up over something that small. One of the blighted animals he’d set free? Whatever it was, it was close: the blood spattering the wall was still wet.

“ _Venas,_ ” he whispered, and the wolf put her nose to the ground. Hopefully, they could find the creature and dispatch it before it got in their way.

He drew his other dagger and crept along the tunnel, one eye on the ground while he watched Maggie’s progress ahead. He could see where the nugs had scattered as they tried to escape whatever was hunting them. More blood on the walls now, and on the floor, and another set of the tracks he’d noticed before. Seth shook his head, mystified. It made no sense, unless…

Maggie snarled up ahead, her fur bristling again. “ _Garas,_ ” Seth called softly, and the wolf circled back to him, fangs still bared. Seth crouched against the wall, daggers ready, watching the curve in the tunnel ahead while Maggie continued growling softly beside him.

A red glow seeped into the stone, and Seth’s heart sank. Suddenly, he understood.

When it charged, it moved faster than it had any right to. So fast, indeed, that Seth wouldn’t have recognized the creature hurtling toward them had he not already seen the tracks. It was too large by half and bristling in so much red lyrium that the tips of its spines brushed the walls of the tunnel, throwing off sparks where they met stone. The tusks jutting out from its lower jaw were the size of a man’s forearm, and the serrated beak glistened with fresh blood. The quillback had eaten well, but apparently it wasn’t satisfied yet. And it had its sights on Seth.

You didn’t fight a quillback head-on. That beak would rip you to shreds as surely as shark’s teeth. But there was no way Seth could get behind it in the narrow confines of the tunnel. So he did the only thing he could: he turned and ran.

They’d passed a larger chamber a few minutes ago; if he could reach it before the creature overtook them, they’d have a fighting chance.

He could hear the galloping gait closing the distance, but they had a fifty-foot head start, and there was a T in the tunnel just ahead that would break the creature’s line of sight. Seth was almost upon it when the first lyrium spines sailed past him, one of them glancing off his pauldron.

_What the…?_

Instinctively, he glanced behind him, only to watch in horror as a fresh crop of lyrium shards pushed its way out of the quillback’s hide, replacing those it had just flung at them. Only this crop was even denser than the one before, a bristling thicket of crystalline quills ranging in size from dagger to longsword. The creature crouched and bucked, and a fresh volley of shards whipped down the tunnel toward them. Seth dove, shouting for Maggie to lie down; the wolf flattened herself just in time to avoid being turned into a pincushion. The lyrium quills hit the wall with the force of a ballista, but instead of shattering, they embedded themselves deep in the stone.

Not good. Not good at _all_.

Seth scrambled to his feet and kept running. The larger chamber was just ahead. He could make it…

Some part of his hunter’s brain registered the blood spattered on the pillars where there’d been no blood only minutes before. But he was so focused on getting away from the quillback that he somehow failed to process the presence of an even bigger threat tearing into its lunch just a few feet away. It wasn’t until Maggie skidded to a halt and erupted in vicious baying that Seth noticed the hulking predator crouched over a fresh bronto carcass in the corner. The cretahl lifted its head and squinted its tiny eyes in Maggie’s direction.

Not an ordinary cretahl, of course. That would merely have been deadly. This was a corrupted cretahl, its horned crown fringed with lyrium shards so huge it was a wonder the thing could even lift its head. The hide was studded with red lyrium gemstones, providing an additional layer of armour, and the fanged maw protruded so far from its jaws that it seemed to have a life of its own, extending slowly like a snail emerging from its shell as the creature scented its surroundings.

Seth silenced Maggie with a gesture, and they both froze. The cretahl’s nose twitched, but it was too nearsighted to spot them, and it must have decided they didn’t smell like enough of a threat, because it went back to its meal, lowering its massive head into the open cavity between the bronto’s ribs. Seth let out the breath he’d been holding.

There was no way he could fight this thing; not with the quillback bearing down on them. With only seconds to think, he motioned Maggie to his side and ducked behind a pillar.

Cretahls were hunters, but quillbacks were primarily scavengers. Seth could only pray that the rules of the wild applied even here. If he was wrong, it would be the end of him, and Maggie too.

The quillback barrelled into the room, scanning the shadows for its prey – only to be distracted by the smell of fresh blood. Its eyes fixed on the carcass, so much bigger and more enticing than the nugs it had been eating. The cretahl, meanwhile, raised its head again, smelling the blood on the quillback’s beak. Two predators now, and one kill.

Predators never shared.

The quillback hissed and raised its spines, as though it might intimidate the cretahl off its kill. The larger beast rumbled a warning, and when the challenger failed to heed it, the cretahl lowered its massive head and charged. The contest was swift and brutal. The quillback loosed its spines, and though most of them glanced off the cretahl’s fringe, a few found their way into its shoulders. That only enraged the cretahl more, and it barrelled into the quillback with the full force of its lyrium horns, throwing the scavenger into the air and flipping it onto its back.

Seth wasted no time, leaping out of the shadows and plunging both daggers into the quillback’s exposed belly. The cretahl whirled on him, but Seth managed to dive clear of its horns, and by the time it recovered from its charge, the quillback had regained its feet. Blood poured from its belly, but it used a fresh volley of quills to protect itself while it plucked Seth’s daggers from its flesh with its nimble beak. The cretahl flinched back from the hail of lyrium shards, and then it charged again, only to be met with a snoutful of spikes as the quillback used its barbed tail like a flail.

The standoff might have lasted for a while were it not for the gushing dagger wounds in the quillback’s underside. But its movements were slowing fast, and the cretahl took advantage, waiting out a clumsy lash of the spiked tail before charging one last time, impaling its rival on its lyrium horns. The quillback screamed and thrashed, and then it was still.

But the cretahl had no time to celebrate its victory. Another challenger had presented herself, a furry black beast that stood snarling and snapping a few feet in front of it, fearless despite her vastly inferior size. The cretahl lowered its head for the charge – and that was its undoing. Because there was a fourth predator in the room, the deadliest of them all, waiting to take advantage of that tip of the head. Seth flung himself onto the cretahl’s back and drove his daggers under the bony ridge of the creature’s skull, burying them to the hilt. The cretahl lurched, staggered, and collapsed to the ground with an elf still clinging to its back.

Seth slipped off and sagged over himself, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Then Maggie growled again, and his head snapped up.

Slow applause sounded from the south entrance of the room. Aerion Malkar stood in the doorframe, flanked by two archers with their bows trained on Seth.

“Well done, Inquisitor,” the Redeemer said, tilting his head to consider what was left of his lyrium-infected pets. “Truly impressive. I only wish you’d drawn it out a bit longer. For research purposes, you understand. Still, I’ve learned a great deal. And you will help me learn even more.”

“ _Maggie,_ _dara!_ _Venas_ _Dorian!_ ”

The wolf didn’t hesitate, bounding away through the door opposite Malkar.

“Chase it down,” the Redeemer snapped, “and kill it.”

A trio of armed men lit across the room in pursuit. Seth briefly considered rushing them, but his daggers were still buried in the cretahl’s skull, and the archers flanking Malkar hadn’t moved. He was completely at their mercy.

The Redeemer knew it, and he smiled. “Catch your breath, my friend,” he said pleasantly. “We have all the time in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a fun thing happened. We had a power surge that fried my monitor instantly (huh???), so I had to finish this one on my phone. I guess what I'm saying here is... technical difficulties, please stand by. :/


	27. Chapter 27

“All right, everyone,” said Cullen, in full Commander mode now. “This is it. Once we blow the gaatlock, there’s no turning back. If anyone has any last-minute questions, now’s the time.”

Dorian had a _lot_ of questions. _Since when are darkspawn our allies? How do we know this explosion won’t bring the entire cavern down around our ears? Am I the only sane person here?_

He did not ask these questions, as they were unlikely to produce satisfying answers.

Instead, he drummed his fingers impatiently on his folded arms as he waited for the farewells to be over. The farewell he cared about most had already taken place, and the longer they stood around, the more time he had to contemplate all the horrible things that could be happening to his _amatus_ at this very moment. Though on the plus side, worrying about Seth had the advantage of keeping his mind off his own mortality, which would be staring him in the face soon enough.

“We won’t be able to see you from down below,” Cullen went on. “So it’ll be up to you to keep an eye on our progress and brace yourselves when we light the gaatlock.”

Dorian scowled. “And how exactly are we meant to do that?”

“We hold on tight,” Ellana said with a thin smile.

“Good luck,” Cullen said, his eyes fixed firmly on the younger Lavellan. “Maker be with you.”

Ellana started to say something, stopped, turned a fetching shade of pink, and finally managed, “And you.”

Honestly, it would have been just _too_ adorable, were it not for the fact that they were all going to die.

“Have fun with the darkspawn,” Sera said, making a face. “You sure they’re going to follow you, Thom?”

Rainier nodded. “It’s a Grey Warden thing. The darkspawn can sense us as surely as we sense them, and they’ll be itching to put me down. Should be easy enough to lead them on a merry chase.”

“How do you mean, _sense_ you?”

Rainier scratched his beard and glanced away. “Best not to ask too many questions about that.”

Dorian was about to say something waspish, but happily, he wasn’t the only one impatient to be off. “Let us get on with it,” Cassandra said, ducking into her helm. “There is no time to lose.”

They split up, the warriors heading in the direction of Heidrun Thaig while Dorian and the rogues continued on to the Bastion of the Pure. Already, they could hear the muffled _boom_ of distant explosions as the Promisers detonated small charges at the base of the cavern. “This path Seth showed you,” Dorian said to Ellana as they jogged toward yet another flight of stairs. “Are you sure the Promisers don’t know it?”

“If they do, I doubt they’d bother with it. They’ve got that ancient lift, and the path we’re taking is cramped and dark and really steep. Not very practical if you’ve got a better way down.”

As it turned out, _really steep_ was something of an understatement. Dorian spent as much time slip-sliding as he did walking, relying on his staff to keep him from going arse over teakettle.

“Too bad we don’t have shields,” Sera remarked as they skidded along. “Could’ve ridden them straight to the bottom. Like sleds, yeah?”

“Yes, exactly,” Dorian said. “Straight to the bottom – and right off the edge of a thousand-foot cliff.”

“Spoilsport.”

Down they went, and farther still, until Dorian’s wrist ached and his right butt cheek quivered with the strain. But eventually the ground levelled off, and they heard the muted roar of waves in the distance. “We’re here,” Ellana said, and a moment later they stepped into the vast, glittering cavern of the Bastion of the Pure.

It was just as Dorian remembered it: beautiful and subtly terrifying, as if it had been designed expressly to make a man contemplate his own insignificance. Stalagmites the size of chantry spires thrust up from the ground to meet equally massive stalactites dangling from the ceiling, row upon row of shadowed stone fangs pressing in on them as though they stood clasped in the jaws of some colossal beast. It was, Dorian reflected, like staring into the teeth of your own doom.

Sera had never been here before, and she took in the sight with an awed expression. “Wow. It’s…”

“Incredible,” Ellana said wistfully.

“I was going to say _creepy_. There should _not_ be an ocean down here. There just… shouldn’t.” She shuddered. “Let’s just plug these arseholes, get Varric, and get out of here.”

Sensible suggestions all, but Dorian had a feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy. Already, he could see signs of heavy traffic along the wider pathway to their left; it didn’t take the tracking skills of a Dalish hunter to see that the Promisers were down here in numbers. If Cassandra and the others couldn’t draw off enough of the guards…

 _Stop it._ There was no point in worrying now. Besides, they had more immediate problems, like not dashing themselves to pieces upon the rocks.

They followed the path to the right, keeping to the ledge overlooking the underground sea as they worked their way gradually down. They could hear the work going on far below, the cold staccato of pickaxes ringing out between the roar of the waves. Dorian was starting to wonder just how close they planned to get when Ellana called them to a halt at the top of a steep slope. “This is it,” she said, craning her neck to look up. “Once we get up there, we can cut across until we’re practically on top of the miners’ camp.”

Dorian eyed the rock face they were meant to be climbing, a twenty-foot wall of stone bathed in the blue-white glow of lyrium. Veins of the stuff grew like naked tree branches out of the rock, giving off a gentle buzz of energy that stood the hairs of his arms on end. “Exactly how are we meant to climb that?”

“Just do as I do.” A crevice about six inches wide ran vertically up the rock, and Ellana jammed the toe of her boot into it, using it as a foothold to propel herself up to a small ledge. Grabbing on with her hands, she hoisted herself up to her chest and yanked her boot free, only to jam it back in a few feet higher. “Like so,” she said. “This part isn’t too bad.”

 _This part._ How tremendously comforting. Dorian was extremely well built, obviously, but that didn't mean he was athletic. Climbing a crevice looked like the sort of thing that required _skills._ But there was nothing for it, so he jammed his boot in the crack and followed Ellana’s lead, alternating his weight from hand to foot. Happily, it wasn't as hard as it looked, and before long he'd reached the top of the ledge. From here, it was a relatively gentle slope down toward the sea – broken only by the occasional ten-foot leap between outcroppings of mildew-slick rock.

_Marvellous._

He watched, stomach squirming, as Ellana sprang effortlessly across the first gap, alighting on the downslope as if she weighed nothing at all. Sera went next, with a similar result. Then it was Dorian’s turn. _It’s only ten feet_ , he told himself. _You can jump across ten feet._ He took a bit of a run at it just to be sure – which turned out to be a rather large mistake. He made it across, all right – and just kept going, hitting the damp stone with so much momentum that his boots slipped right out from under him, landing him flat on his back and sending him skidding uncontrollably down the slope. He clawed frantically at the stone, tearing his fingernails to shreds as he skittered toward the edge. If it hadn’t been for Ellana throwing herself on her stomach and grabbing the staff strapped to his back, he’d have gone right over; as it was, he nearly took her with him, sliding all the way to his armpits and clinging on for dear life as his boots dangled a hundred feet above the pounding waves.

It took both Ellana and Sera to haul him back up, and the three of them flopped onto their backs, panting and staring up at the lyrium stars overhead.

“ _Fuck_ , Dorian,” Sera managed finally. “Clumsy much?”

“I feel compelled to point out that my accoutrements are not ideally suited to death-defying leaps.”

She frowned bemusedly at the ceiling. “Dangly bits make it harder to jump?”

Ellana stifled a laugh. “I think he means his clothes, not his... er, bits.”

“Why not just say that? Better yet, maybe don’t wear a dress next time.”

Dorian scowled. “It’s not a _dress_ , it’s a mage cloak, and... Oh, never mind. Let’s just keep moving, shall we?”

The next jump was a little shorter, thank the Maker, though his disastrous first effort had left Dorian shaken enough that he nearly made a hash of the second one, too. Eventually, however, his nerves settled, and the three of them managed to make their way down to a ledge overlooking the miners’ camp. Now came the waiting part.

They lay on their stomachs, watching the activity below. The miners sat huddled in groups, resting between shifts under the watchful gaze of a dozen Promisers. “Seth says those ones are the Anointed,” Ellana whispered, pointing at a hulk of a knight with a crest of red lyrium shards running down his spine. “There’s a couple of Qunari ones, too.” Dorian spied at least three of them, lyrium-horned and massive, with blades of red lyrium protruding from the outer bones of their forearms, like fins on a fish.

“Lovely,” Dorian muttered. “A right hook from one of those would knock out your teeth _and_ cut your head off.”

“Look.” Sera inclined her chin. “There’s Varric.”

“Where?”

“Right there. Sitting up against the rock.”

Dorian squinted at the dwarf in question, a thick-set figure with a ponytail, bushy beard, and significantly more arm hair than was advisable. This ginger yak couldn’t possibly be Varric, could it? A Duster, surely? But no – the chest hair peeking out beneath the beard was unmistakable. Somewhere under all that fur was the Viscount of Kirkwall. Even from this distance, Dorian could see that he’d put on weight, all of it muscle. From wielding a pickaxe day after day, no doubt. _Well, well, Master Tethras. A proper dwarf after all this time._ Dorian would enjoy teasing him about it later – assuming any of them survived.

The odds of which looked… rather better than they ought to, actually.

“There should be more of them,” he whispered. “Promisers, I mean.”

Ellana frowned. “You’re right. There were at least twice that many yesterday. I wonder—”

“Shut it, you two,” Sera hissed. “Listen.”

Bestial shrieks echoed off the stone. Heads turned all over the mining camp, and a shout of warning went up. The Promiser guards drew swords and bows, all of them gazing out in the direction of the sound.

Up the hill, the path narrowed into a natural choke point before branching in two separate directions. To the left, a steep path hugged the edge of the rocky outcropping on which Dorian and the others perched. To the right, a slightly smoother path cut a longer route back up the slope. This was the direction from which the sound came, and as Dorian watched, a single hurlock came charging down the path, heralding the arrival of a pack of the foul things. The Promisers rushed out to meet it, leaving only a handful of guards behind.

Which was, of course, the idea.

 _Steady now_ , Dorian thought, watching the Promisers cut down the hurlock before continuing on to meet the rest of the horde. _Wait for it…_

He should never have doubted Cullen. After all, it was the Commander’s ingenious use of trebuchets during the attack on Haven that had inspired this little gambit of Seth’s. No sooner had the Promisers passed the choke point, a thunderous explosion rocked the cavern. The walls shook, the ground shuddered, and an avalanche of stone came _roaring_ down the steep slope just below Dorian and the others.

“Get back!” he cried, yanking Ellana away from the edge just as a massive boulder crashed off the wall. They scurried back as far as they dared, covering their heads with their arms and waiting out the deluge. When at last the rumbling stopped and Dorian peered through the dust, he found a mountain of rubble at the choke point, cutting off the enemy and preventing them from falling back or reinforcing the guards left behind. On the other side of that rubble, Cassandra, Cullen, and Rainier would let the darkspawn and Promisers fight it out before taking on whoever was left standing.

And on this side of the rubble, where only a handful of guards remained, it was time to start climbing.

“Now comes the hard part,” Ellana whispered. The ledge where the archers were perched was about thirty feet below and another thirty in front of them – roughly half of which was empty air. Somehow, the three of them would have to get across that gap and then climb down the rest of the way.

“Look at that,” Sera said. “One of those pissbags has Bianca.” Dorian followed her glance, and sure enough, one of the archers had appropriated Varric’s precious contraption. “I call dibs on that one,” Sera said, already nocking an arrow.

But Dorian put a hand on her bow. “Not yet. We’re sitting ducks up here.”

“He’s right,” said Ellana. “We need to be ready to jump down the moment we take them out. Which means we have to get across _that_ first.”

“I trust you have an idea about that?” Dorian eyed the gap uneasily. “It’s too far to jump.”

Rummaging through her pack, Ellana came up with a rope.

“You’re not serious.” When Ellana just looked at him, he laughed darkly. “You are. And how, pray tell, is this meant to work?”

“You see those lyrium veins up there?”

They all glanced up. A thicket of lyrium grew out of the wall above them, several feet out over the gap. As Dorian watched incredulously, Ellana tied the rope to an arrow and shot it over top of the lyrium branches. “This is _never_ going to work,” he growled.

“Would you stop being such a pessimist and just…” She wiggled her fingers, exactly the way Seth always did when he wanted to indicate magic.

Sighing, Dorian wreathed his hands in blue light and manipulated the arrow until a solid knot had been tied in the rope, securing it to the thickest of the lyrium branches. “This is madness,” he muttered, giving Ellana’s end of the rope a hard tug. “Do we even know if this crystal can bear our weight?”

“We’re about to find out,” she said with a nervous smile.

Sera peered over the ledge at the heaving sea far below. It was hard not to imagine oneself being smashed to bits upon the rocks, or swallowed by those cold, fathomless waves. “This is shit,” she said, succinctly.

Ellana went first, taking a solid run at it before throwing herself off the ledge and swinging like some insane pointy-eared monkey across the gap. She landed gracefully, turned around and _grinned_ – something so very like Seth’s pirate smile that Dorian’s heart gave a little pang. He fetched the rope with a wave of his hand and gave it to Sera.

“Fuck,” she said. “Shitballs.” Then she gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and swung. She cleared the gap easily, and Ellana grabbed her at the far end. Two across.

 _Right_ , Dorian thought as he got a firm grip on the rope. _How hard can this be? Like a tree swing over a pond._ Except he’d never done that, because even as a child, he’d had some fucking _dignity_.

Still, there was no help for it, so he took a run at it, held on tight, and jumped.

There was a glorious moment, suspended in time, when it was actually a little bit fun. Not quite as much fun as riding a dragon, perhaps, but delightful in its way. Dorian admired the sight of his boots hovering over the frothing sea.

And then the lyrium branch broke, because _of course_ it did.

On the upside, Dorian had cleared the gap. On the downside – way, _way_ down – he was now hurtling feet-first toward the ledge where the archers were posted, a fall more than sufficient to shatter both of his legs. But this wasn’t his first potentially deadly fall of the day, and he’d had time to reflect on what he ought to do in circumstances such as these. So he extended his arms, palms forward, and shot a pair of carefully-controlled fireballs out of his hands. He timed it perfectly, using the counter-momentum to slow his descent just enough that he managed to land on his feet – in between a pair of enemy archers who were now quite spectacularly on fire.

There was no denying this was a cock-up of epic proportions. And yet Dorian couldn’t help feeling just a tiny bit pleased, because it _looked_ bloody magnificent.

Right up until there were half a dozen arrows pointed at his face, at any rate. At which juncture Dorian was forced to admit that he had a problem. Still, it wouldn’t do to undermine that glorious entrance with a show of weakness. If he was going to go out, it would be in style, so he pasted on his most infuriating, shit-eating smirk and gathered the Veil around him.

“Morning, chaps,” he said, wreathing his forearms in flame. “Shall we?”


	28. Chapter 28

A well-known adage among humans and elves held that you never forgot your first love. Mages had a similar saying, at least in Tevinter: _the first bloom is the truest._ Meaning that the first form of magical talent to emerge in a child would forever be their truest, most instinctive branch of magic. For Dorian, that had always been fire. Though he called himself a necromancer now, he’d been a pyromancer first, and would always be so at heart. (The fact that both of these had the word _romance_ tucked in there was purely a coincidence and had nothing whatever to do with Dorian’s nature, the witticisms of a certain silver-haired elf notwithstanding.)

Fire wasn’t as flashy as electricity, or as utilitarian as ice. It didn’t make the skin crawl the way spirit energy could. But when it came to inspiring raw, primordial terror in one’s enemies, you simply couldn’t beat it. Every creature in the animal kingdom feared fire to their very bones, and in the hands of a skilled showman, it could make even the stoutest of warriors shit his smallclothes.

Dorian was a _highly_ skilled showman.

He flourished his flaming arms as though he were winding up for a truly spectacular salvo, giving the enemy archers an extra heartbeat to contemplate the withering inferno that was about to melt the flesh from their bones. Faced with this horrific prospect, they instinctively loosed their arrows.

Which was a mistake, because only an inexperienced fool of a mage would follow through with a spell like that. As satisfying as it would be to set these cretins on fire, it would be the last spell he ever cast. Nothing in his arsenal was faster than a bowstring; there was simply no way he could neutralize six archers before they filled him full of arrows. What Dorian needed was time, and so he bought himself some: even as the archers let fly, he abandoned the immolate spell and threw up a barrier, letting the missiles bounce away with a crackle of energy. Then, having goaded the archers into wasting their shots, he used the precious seconds he’d bought to whip the staff down from his back and strike again, this time with ice, slowing their movements as they reached for their quivers.

By this point, his companions had recovered their wits, and a pair of arrows sizzled down from above, taking two of the enemy before they could get off another shot. The rest turned to face this new threat, and that gave Dorian time to cast again, calling up one of his personal favourites. Reaching out with both hands, he grasped the Veil and _pulled_ , stretching it thin even as he beckoned with a thread of magic. Spirits of fear, irresistibly drawn to that gossamer thread, pressed up against the weakened Veil in all their horror, threatening to tear through with their wicked claws. Naked skulls pushed against the shimmer, jaws working soundlessly, empty eye sockets fixed on the enemy as the spirits jostled hungrily against one another. The archers took one look at this nightmarish scene and scattered, leaving themselves open to attack; two more fell to elven arrows from above.

It was all going rather well – until Dorian was hit with a holy smite so powerful that it blasted him right off the ledge. He landed flat on his back, the air leaving him in a _whoosh_ as his head bounced off the stone, sending a pulse of agony through his injured skull. If it hadn’t been for his helm cushioning the blow, he’d have blacked out; as it was, he lay there stunned, gasping like a fish on dry land, scarcely able to move let alone reach for his power. Above him, Sera and Ellana were taking cover as the surviving archers returned fire, leaving Dorian alone and utterly helpless.

A sword sang out of its scabbard, glinting in the lyrium glow of the cavern as an ex-templar Promiser strode up to Dorian with murder in his eyes. “Nothing in this world more satisfying than skewering a mage,” he announced with a sneer. He wound up for the killing blow – only to jerk suddenly, mouth agape, sword tumbling from his grasp as he dropped to his knees. Behind him stood a ginger yak of a dwarf, his hand still on the shaft of the pickaxe he’d just buried in the back of the templar’s skull.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Sparkles, but aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be saving _my_ ass?” Varric grabbed Dorian’s hand and hauled him to his feet before jerking his pickaxe free with a stomach-turning _squelch_.

“Not the most seamless rescue operation, I grant you.”

“Still, you made quite a statement with that entrance.”

“Do be sure to mention that to the Inquisitor when we see him. I’d hate for him to think he’s the only one with a little flair.” Dorian dusted off his robes, picked up his staff, and sent a casual arc of electricity through the swordsman rushing at Varric from behind. The man twitched and staggered for a few paces before Varric finished the job with a swing of his pickaxe.

“You’re handy with that,” Dorian observed.

“I’ve had plenty of practice.”

By this point, things had become a tad disorderly. The miners were running around like ants with the nest kicked in, some of them fighting and some fleeing. The Promisers, meanwhile, didn’t seem to know quite what to do with their charges, apparently torn between killing them and scolding them like naughty schoolchildren. Dorian paused to take in the remarkable sight of a dwarf riding a Promiser piggy-back, teeth clamping down on her ear while she shrieked and flailed. Ellana and Sera, meanwhile, had their hands full finishing off the enemy archers, one of whom was taking aim at Sera with a familiar piece of equipment.

“Excuse me a minute, would you?” Varric hefted his pickaxe, wound up, and sent it sailing end-over-end at the Promiser wielding Bianca. The pointy bit found his… well, bits… and Dorian couldn’t help wincing, his own bits tucking up in sympathy as the man screamed and pitched to his knees, clutching pitifully at the piece of mining equipment buried in his groin.

“Hey!” Sera called out from above. “Didn’t you say no maiming?”

“Made an exception for this one,” Varric called back, stooping to retrieve his precious weapon. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?” he murmured. He gave the contraption a reverential kiss – and then shot a bolt between the eyes of the maimed Promiser.

A few more arrows and a well-placed ice trap was all it took to wrap things up, and Ellana and Sera climbed the rest of the way down, the latter blushing as a handful of grateful miners hugged her or patted her back.

“Where’s Frosty?” Varric asked.

And here Dorian had just been starting to feel better about things. “Destroying Malkar’s red lyrium supply, hopefully,” he said with a sigh.

“Off heroing on his own again, huh?”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Cassandra and the rest are on the other side of that,” Sera put in, gesturing with her bow. “With what’s left of these Promiser arseholes.”

Varric’s eyebrows flew up. “Divine Victoria is down here? Sounds like we have a lot to catch up on. But first…” Turning to his fellow miners, he raised both hands for silence. “Listen up. My friends and I are off to finish this mess. If you’re looking for a little payback, grab a pickaxe or whatever you can loot off these bodies. If you’d rather stay of out sight, you can help by tossing every bit of this mining equipment into the sea. Shovels, gaatlock – all of it.”

“Let’s hurry,” Ellana said, gazing anxiously at the wall of rubble separating them from the others. “It’s too quiet over there, and it’ll take us a while to get back up the hill.”

They set off at a run, half a dozen stout-hearted miners falling in behind. Ellana was right – it was awfully quiet on the far side of that rubble pile. That was either good news or very bad news indeed. Dorian tried to keep his mind off the latter by filling Varric in on the events of the past few days.

“I figured he was out there,” Varric said when they got to the part about Seth’s escapades. “I’d get this creepy feeling on the back of my neck, like I was being watched. Then about an hour later, some weird shit would happen. A darkspawn attack, or an explosion, or a guard going missing. It had Frosty written all over it, so I spread the word among the miners. Helped keep morale up, knowing the Inquisitor was out there.”

What a novel idea. As for Dorian, his morale was very definitely _not_ improved by knowing the Inquisitor was out there. On the contrary, it rather took the shine off what should have been a triumphant moment. They’d freed Varric and the other miners and put a stop to the excavations, at least for now. It should have been a huge victory, but all Dorian could think about was his _amatus_. What was he doing right now? Had he blown up the lyrium supply? Killed Malkar and the rest of his thugs? Or was he lying in a pool of his own blood somewhere?

_Enough. Focus on what you can control._

They retraced their steps almost all the way to the entrance before doubling back, taking the smoother left-hand path this time. They’d barely started down before the sounds of battle drifted up from below, and when they reached the bottom, they found Cassandra, Cullen, and Rainier squaring off against what was left of the Promisers. Bodies littered the field – most of them darkspawn, plus a handful of guards and one of the Qunari Anointed. Two more Anointed remained, along with a handful of archers; Cassandra and the others faced them down warily, visibly exhausted.

Dorian started casting at a run, throwing a barrier over his allies and sending a wave of rejuvenating magic through their tired limbs. He started to follow it up with an attack spell, but one of the Anointed turned around and raised a glowing hand, dispelling the blizzard before it even began. Dorian cursed – and then cried out in pain as the lyrium infusing his helm flared white-hot. A high-pitched ringing pierced his skull, as though someone had struck a tuning fork right between his ears; he clutched his head with both hands as specks of colour danced in his vision, so vibrantly intense that he nearly vomited. He tore the helm free and threw it, thanking the Maker for his dragon-scale gloves even as the acrid stench of burnt hair filled his nose.

 _Fool._ He’d forgotten that some Seekers could set lyrium aflame. If he’d downed a vial before engaging in battle, the blood in his veins would be boiling right now. The only reason he hadn’t was that his mana had regenerated while they doubled back; it was nothing but blind luck that he was still alive. If these Anointed could all do the same…

 _Worse than anything we fought during the Inquisition_ , Rainier had said. Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Dorian hauled himself up as Cassandra charged the distracted Anointed with her shield, knocking him off balance. But he regained his footing quickly, swinging out with his sword and forcing the Divine to leap back. He followed this with a blast of red lyrium energy so intense that Cassandra’s shield glowed red as she hunkered behind it, the crystal spikes along his spine throbbing with light as he drew upon his power. Dorian tried to refresh Cassandra’s barrier, but no sooner had he reached for the Veil than he was dispelled, this time by the Qunari Anointed.

“ _Kaffas_ ,” he hissed.

“You alright, Sparkles?” Varric had taken cover behind a rock, but he popped up long enough to loose a shot at one of the archers, even as the other man returned fire.

“Well enough,” Dorian said, ducking behind a rock of his own. “Except that at this point, I’m largely decorative.”

“Good thing you’re as decorative as you are, then.”

“Quite.”

 _Think, damn you._ But what could he do against a pair of lyrium-corrupted super templars?

Then again, perhaps he needn’t do anything. The dwarven miners had leapt into the fray now, wielding their pickaxes and looted weapons, and Varric, Sera, and Ellana were steadily picking off what was left of the enemy archers. The Anointed might be powerful, but there were only two of them, and…

An arrow _hissed_ past Dorian’s ear, close enough that he felt the breeze of its passing. He turned to scold his companions for an errant shot – only for the words to die on his tongue as he looked up the slope to find a small army of Promisers. At their head stood the biggest man Dorian had ever seen, an Anointed armed with what looked suspiciously like a Sha-Brytol rapid-fire crossbow.

“Divine Victoria!” the man thundered, and the battle slowed momentarily. “You reveal your true colours, pretender, aligning yourself with such as these.” He gestured at Dorian as he said that, which felt rather uncalled for.

“Krellis.” Cassandra’s voice dripped with contempt. “I should have guessed you would be here. You always were a boot-licking toad.”

“I am chosen. _We_ are chosen.” He swept a massive arm to indicate the fifty or so Promisers at his back. “And you, Cassandra, will sink to the bottom of this fathomless sea, and no one will remember your name.”

Having thus concluded his inspirational speech, Krellis raised his weapon and opened fire.

Dorian threw himself to the ground as red lyrium-tipped missiles flashed by, ringing off Cassandra’s shield with such force that her boots skidded backward through the dirt. Ellana dove one way, Sera another, while Varric hunkered against his rock. Dorian tried to cast but was dispelled, and dispelled again, his cry of frustration echoing off the cold stone. Powerless, he could do nothing but watch as their doom hurtled down the slope. Pinned between the rubble and the oncoming tide of Promisers, they had nowhere to run. They were trapped and outnumbered seven to one, facing half a dozen of the incredibly powerful creatures calling themselves Anointed.

They were, in other words, quite thoroughly fucked.

Dorian turned back to his friends, his heart already aching with anticipated grief. Cullen wore the same grim look he’d worn at Haven, when he was certain their end was upon them. Rainier glowered darkly as he hammered away at his foe. Cassandra seemed oddly at peace, while Sera looked more pissed off than afraid. Varric’s expression was lost to posterity, being entirely hidden beneath a thicket of ginger beard. As for Ellana Lavellan, she might have been her brother in that moment, so fierce and focused that it took Dorian’s breath away.

They all fought still, though they must have known it was hopeless. Dorian found he could do no less, so he turned to face his enemy, gripping his staff like a polearm. It wasn’t how he imagined meeting his Maker, but so long as Seth had taken out Malkar and his lyrium, that was all that mattered. Dorian had long ago accepted that he might die saving the world. Today, it seemed, was the day.

Unless it wasn’t.

A war cry sounded from the top of the slope, so familiar that Dorian nearly sobbed in relief. The Iron Bull raised his maul high above his head and _roared_ , and the Bull’s Chargers answered, surging down the slope in a screaming frenzy. But that wasn’t all. In the shadows behind them, Dorian could just make out a glittering figure raising her arm, and a wall of ice erupted from the ground in the midst of the oncoming Promisers, impaling some and trapping others where they would be easy prey for the Chargers. Vivienne stepped out of the gloom – and beside her Leliana, her bow _thumping_ as she sent shaft after shaft down the slope into the backs of Krellis’s men.

A manic laugh sounded behind Dorian. “Family reunion!” Sera cried, firing double-time now.

Vivienne tugged on the Veil again, readying for another attack, which was promptly dispelled by one of the Anointed. But Madame de Fer just smiled as another mage appeared out of the shadows at her side, and another, and another still. The Grand Enchanter had brought half the Circle with her, apparently, and they were ready for a fight.

“Go on, darling,” Vivienne mocked the corrupted Seeker. “See how many of us you can take at once. There are a dozen of us, you know.”

Dorian’s mouth curled into a nasty smile. “A dozen and one,” he called, drawing the Veil around him in shimmering waves. “And this one is _cranky_.”


	29. Chapter 29

As family reunions went, it was a decidedly spirited affair, even by Tevinter standards. Back home, a family gathering was apt to include dramatic displays of magic and perhaps even a killing or two, but not on this scale. Dorian had never set any of his relations on fire, though Maker knew he’d been tempted. And he could not recall a single family function that included a pair of Qunari squaring off like gladiators in the Proving Arena – though admittedly his recollection might have been hazy, since he made it a policy never to be sober around his family.

The Iron Bull had wasted no time seeking out his countryman, roaring a challenge in Qunlat that didn’t sound at all collegial and charging the Qunari Anointed head-on – which came as something of a surprise to the Anointed’s current dance partner. Poor Cullen narrowly avoided becoming the jelly in a Qunari sandwich, leaping aside just in time to avoid the brutal arc of Bull’s maul. The blow connected with the Anointed’s head, shattering a red lyrium horn and sending him staggering back with a howl. Somehow, he kept his feet, crouching and flaring the lyrium fins along his forearms until they were the size of axe blades. But he was tired and enraged – so much so that he didn’t even notice the mage casting behind him until it was too late. Dorian shamelessly exploited the Qunari dread of demons, hitting him with a cheeky horror spell that had him running around squealing like a little girl with a spider in her hair.

Instead of being properly grateful, Bull scowled disapprovingly. “Lay off the demons, would you?”

“Never mind that. I need your help.” Dorian gestured at the writhing knot of bodies standing between him and the rest of the mages. “I need to get a message to Vivienne. If any of them drinks lyrium—”

“She knows. The Inquisitor’s message covered that.”

Dorian frowned. “The Inquisitor’s whatnow?”

“Kinda busy here,” Bull growled, gripping his maul as the Qunari Anointed came at him again.

Dorian readied another spell - only to abandon it mid-cast, distracted by the sight of a familiar shape hurtling down the hill toward him. Maggie didn’t engage any of the Promisers; didn’t even look at them, darting between the bodies as though they were no more than trees in the forest. Dorian’s gaze raked the shadows at the top of the hill, but there was no sign of Seth. That could mean only one thing, and he clung to his staff as the world tilted sickeningly under his feet.

Maggie would never leave Seth’s side. Not unless…

 _No. She wouldn’t leave his body behind. She would stay with him, even in death._ If Maggie was here, Seth must have sent her.

The wolf bounded up to him, and Dorian crouched, scanning her fur for any sign of injury. But she seemed unharmed, and as Dorian watched, a pair of pursuing Promisers appeared at the top of the hill, so out of breath they couldn’t even take cover as Leliana turned and shot them down.

“Dorian!” Ellana appeared at his side, her face deathly pale. She glanced over the wolf before lifting her eyes to Dorian’s, silently begging for an answer she knew he couldn’t give.

_Where is he?_

“She’ll take us to him,” Dorian said, his voice catching. As if in reply, Maggie barked and sprang away, heading straight back the way she’d come. Only this time, she paused halfway up the hill to look back, making sure Dorian understood he was to follow.

He rose, eying the teeming mass of bodies at the base of the hill. Caught between two fronts of Inquisition forces, the Promisers were being cut down on both sides. But it wasn’t over yet, and Dorian saw no way through the melee that wouldn’t involve him expending every last drop of mana – power he might need to help Seth, and which he couldn't easily recuperate without the benefit of lyrium.

A solution arrived in the form of the Iron Bull, who strolled up to Dorian as casually as if they were at the tavern at Skyhold. “Still looking for someone meaty up front?”

He was covered in so much blood it looked like vitaar, and his free hand grasped the wrist of a Qunari arm that was no longer attached to a Qunari. Dorian had questions, but decided he didn’t want the answers, so he just said, “Yes, please.”

“Better stand back,” Bull said, tossing the surplus limb aside and taking his maul two-handed. “This is gonna be messy.”

In fact, _messy_ did not begin to describe the bloody pulp that generally resulted from a Qunari swinging a maul in a 360-degree arc. Dorian sighed as bits of Promiser spattered his robes, even from ten feet away. It was the battle equivalent of dining with a sloppy eater, and it was rather tiresome – not to mention gruesome in the extreme. But it was also efficient, and in no time at all, Bull had bashed his way through enemy lines, allowing Dorian and Ellana to reach their allies at the top of the hill.

“Dorian, darling, you look simply _dreadful_.” Vivienne paused in her casting to air kiss his cheeks.

“Wonderful to see you, Grand Enchanter,” he replied, with only a soupçon of sarcasm. The two of them would never be friends, but they’d buried the hatchet years ago, and besides – she had just come to his rather glorious rescue. “I’d stop to chat, but I’m afraid there’s unfinished business yet.” He marvelled at the steadiness of his own voice, considering the fear clawing at his insides. “Our Inquisitor has gone and got himself captured, or something equally dire.”

“And now it falls to you to swoop in and rescue him. How romantic.”

“Terribly cliché, isn’t it?” Dorian flashed a tight smile. “I trust you lot can handle this rabble?”

“Go,” Leliana said, not even pausing as she sent arrow after arrow into the melee. “We will finish this. Malkar is yours.”

“Meet us at Daerwin’s Mouth,” Vivienne added, tugging on the Veil once more.

“Krem!” Bull roared down the hill. “You’re in command! Got an errand to run!”

“Got it, Chief!” came the reply from... somewhere.

“Let’s go,” Bull said, slinging his maul into its harness. “This Malkar guy doesn’t mess around. If he’s got the Inquisitor, there’s no time to lose.”

As though Dorian needed to be told. His mouth was dry, his heart hammering against his ribs. But he needed to put on a brave face for Ellana, so he just said, “At least we have a guide. Maggie will take us straight to him.” The three of them set off at a run, the wolf streaking out ahead as she led them back toward the Forgotten Caverns. “What did you mean before?” Dorian asked as they ran. “About a message from the Inquisitor?”

“Red got a letter from him about a week ago. He’d given it to some prisoners he set free, asked them to send it on from Highever.”

 _Of course he did._ Dorian sighed, marvelling for the millionth time at how resourceful his _amatus_ could be. “He explained about Malkar, obviously.”

“And about the Anointed, and all the weird crap they can do. That’s why Red recruited Vivienne in Val Royeaux. She’d already sent word to me, but she figured we needed more men. Looks like she was right.”

“Well, you certainly came along at the right time.”

“Yeah.” Bull grinned. “That was badass.”

“It was so melodramatic I thought for a moment I was in one of Varric’s books.”

“You saved our hides,” Ellana put in. “Thank you, Bull.”

“Oh, hey. Good to meet you, little sister.”

“And you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Don’t worry. Your brother has been in worse scrapes than this.”

It was a valiant effort, but Dorian had seen the look in the Qunari’s eye, and he knew Bull didn’t really believe that.

“We can use the lift,” Bull said. “We cleared it on the way down. Bit messy, though, so watch your boots.”

It was eerily quiet around Heidrun Thaig, as though even the deepstalkers and the nugs knew better than to show themselves. And the closer they got to Malkar’s lair, the more the hairs on the back of Dorian’s neck stood on end. The proximity to red lyrium, perhaps? Or was it all in his head? Whatever the case, Dorian slowed instinctively, his grip tightening around his staff. A large chamber lay ahead, and Maggie’s cautious gait as she approached it was all the warning Dorian needed.

He called her softly and she circled back to him, whereupon he told her to stay put. “And this time, I mean it.” He pointed sternly at the ground, and Maggie lowered herself to her belly with a whine. When Ellana gave him a quizzical look, he said, “She’ll only get in the way.” Which wasn’t _quite_ true, but he’d rather keep the wolf out of trouble if he could help it.

Upon entering the chamber, they saw straightaway what had drawn Maggie up short. A pair of corrupted animals lay in pools of semi-dried blood, their lyrium-infected bodies still glowing subtly, even in death. One was a cretahl, making it distantly possible that the corruption was accidental. But the other, a lyrium-infected quillback, left little doubt about the origin of these creatures.

“Malkar’s pets,” Dorian growled, releasing his barrier as he crouched to inspect the quillback. “I wonder if Seth freed them as a distraction?”

“I don’t think so,” Ellana said in a shaky whisper. “These are dagger wounds. I think…”

“You’re right. Look.” Grimly, Bull bent over the cretahl and retrieved a dagger.

Seth’s dagger.

Dorian’s stomach clenched so hard it hurt, but he tried to keep it together. “Well. We suspected as much, did we not? Now we just need to find where they’ve taken him.”

“No, you don’t.” Cold steel pressed against Dorian’s throat, and a strong hand gripped him from behind. A dwarf, judging from the angle of the blade.

Carta. Sneaky buggers, the lot of them.

Ellana drew her bow, but it was a waste of time. Dwarves appeared out of every shadow, weapons at the ready. They’d been lying in wait for the inevitable rescue party, and Dorian had delivered his friends right into their arms.

 _You wretched fool._ Once again, his desire to protect had betrayed him. Maggie would have warned them of the trap. Instead, he’d left her behind, and in doing so, failed Seth.

Despair settled over him like a dusting of snow. All he could do was watch as Ellana and Bull were disarmed, their hands bound behind their backs. Dorian received the same treatment – plus a delightful little bonus in the form of a filthy rag tied between his jaws, preventing him from uttering a single syllable of a spell. Then they were marched through the tunnels toward a maze of ruins throbbing with the glow of red lyrium.

A Red Templar stood guard at a doorway just ahead. “Got a present for your boss,” one of the Carta men said by way of greeting.

“I’ll take them from here,” the guard replied. “Only members of the Order are permitted inside the Redeemer’s laboratory. Aside from the test subjects, of course.”

“Of course,” the dwarf said sourly. “Just make sure you tell the Redeemer how you came by these.”

“Your service will be rewarded,” the guard said, opening the door and shoving Dorian inside.

The sight that greeted him was the stuff of nightmares. Bodies lay stacked in the corner like so much firewood, human and elven and Qunari, their corpses giving off a sickly red glow. Shards of red lyrium were laid out in neat lines across a large table, along with an assortment of tools: hammers and chisels, punchers and rasps, pliers and tongs and a rather large syringe. Iron hooks had been driven into the ceiling – and from one of these dangled a prisoner, bound and gagged and stripped to the waist, silver hair hanging limply from his drooping head. Dorian writhed in his captor’s grasp, but it was useless; all he succeeded in doing was getting himself thrown roughly against the wall. Seth raised his head at the sound, and the look of despair that came into his eyes when he saw Dorian was like a blade to the heart.

“Ah!” said a cheerful voice, and a young Anointed strolled into the room, wiping blood from his hands with a rag.

Whatever Dorian had expected Aerion Malkar to be, it wasn’t this. A world-destroying fanatic ought to look like Corypheus: dark and withered, with an unmistakable glint of madness in his eyes. Instead, Malkar was bright-eyed and fair, even handsome, despite the crest of red lyrium running down his spine. He reminded Dorian perversely of Cullen – except for the cold cruelty of his gaze, which travelled over Dorian now.

“Magister Pavus, I presume. How kind of you to join us. And you’ve brought friends.”

Seth made a sound of pure anguish as Ellana was dragged into the room.

“I hoped you might be taken alive,” Malkar said conversationally as Dorian and the others were hoisted up by their wrists, dangling from the hooks so that their feet didn’t quite reach the ground. “I find myself short of mages for these experiments. They respond quite differently to the exposure, as I’m sure you know. You’ve seen the results yourself, if I’m not mistaken.”

Malkar paused as if waiting for an answer. Dorian obliged him, though his reply was swallowed by the gag – which was just as well, because the words he’d chosen were decidedly brief and entirely off-topic.

“You can take that off him,” Malkar instructed his underling. “I’m quite capable of keeping his magic in check.”

Dorian turned his head and spat as the rag was removed. Then he said, “I’m going to kill you.”

“An improbable outcome,” Malkar returned mildly.

“Perhaps not as improbable as you think,” Dorian said, equally mildly. He’d spent half his life wearing a mask of smug confidence, and for his allies’ sake, he donned it now. “Your followers are currently being ground into paste. Your man – Krellis, was it? – found himself caught between a rock and a hard place. Literally. You're not getting anywhere near the titan.”

If Malkar was distressed at this news, he gave no sign. “I’m a patient man. If we do not reach the titan today, we will reach it tomorrow, or a year from now. It matters little. We have more allies than you know. Carta. Qunari. Even former Venatori.” He shrugged. “The Maker is with us, and His will shall be done, one way or another.”

“That’s a load of crap,” Bull growled. “What Qunari?”

Malkar was only too happy to answer. “Most who follow the Qun are mere sheep. But there are those who believe your Triumvirate is every bit as much of a fraud as our Divine. They recognize the vision in what we aim to achieve, and the role it will play in helping to deliver their own vision.” He made an airy gesture. “But listen to me, prattling on when we have things to do. I have such plans for you, Magister Pavus. We will make something beautiful together, you and I.”

“An intriguing proposal, but I’m afraid you’re just not my type.”

A look of irritation crossed Malkar’s features – so of course Dorian dug in deeper.

“I’ve never been all that interested in strapping alpha males. Besides, if you’re going to go that route, I think you go all the way and get yourself a big slab of Qunari.”

Bull didn’t miss his cue. “Damn, Dorian, if I’d known I had a shot with you…”

“In another life, my pungent friend. In another life.”

“ _Enough._ ” Malkar picked up the rag and jammed it back in Dorian’s mouth. Then he turned to Seth, considering him with a tilt of his head. “We’ll start with you, I think. I have high hopes for you, Inquisitor. Every subject is a little different. How much lyrium it takes to infect them. Whether they live or die. What they become if they do live. So many variables, so many different outcomes. It’s really quite fascinating. And a specimen of your calibre doesn’t come along every day.”

“I’d re-think that if I were you,” Bull said, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “See, Dorian here is a pretty damn good mage. And then there’s me. I’m thinking about all the ways I can snap your spine with my bare hands. But if you ask me, the one you really need to worry about is the sister there.” He tilted his head at Ellana, whose eyes burned with such raw hatred that Dorian could practically feel the heat rolling off her. “If she’s even a little like her brother, she’s going to kill the _shit_ out of you before you even know what happened.”

Malkar snorted softly. “I’ll take my chances. Still, if what you say is true and my men are under attack, perhaps I ought to choose a more expedient route for this experiment.” He regarded the table of implements with a critical eye, but he left them alone, strolling up to Seth with his hands folded thoughtfully behind his back. “I’ve experimented with virtually every means of infecting an individual with red lyrium. Ingestion. Injection. Respiration. But you know, sometimes the simplest route is best.”

He looked up at Seth and smiled. And before Dorian could even scream, he drew a red lyrium dagger and plunged it into Seth’s side.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take another moment to say a sincere THANK YOU to everyone who's taken the time to comment and chat with me about this story. I appreciate it so, so much. It's what keeps me going, and you guys are simply the best.
> 
> ALSO. I know it's been a bit dire for our heroes these last few chapters, but I hope you'll stick with it. I'll make it worth your while! (Hopefully.)

Ellana’s scream sounded strangely muted in Dorian’s ears, all but drowned out by the harsh rasp of his own breathing. He was vaguely aware of her bucking and twisting like a wild animal caught in a trap, but he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t seem to do anything but hang there limply, watching as Aerion Malkar drew the lyrium dagger out of Seth’s side, leaving a three-inch wound gushing with blood. The elf’s whole body jerked, a muffled grunt sounding from behind the gag, but his face betrayed almost nothing. He wouldn’t give Malkar the satisfaction of seeing his pain or his fear. Dorian wished he could scrub the emotion from his own features just as easily, but it was impossible. The man he loved had just been stabbed with raw red lyrium, and the Maker alone knew what would become of him now.

Malkar passed his fingertips over Seth’s ribs as gently as a lover, examining his handiwork. “I do hope I haven’t punctured a lung. It will ruin the experiment if you perish before the lyrium can do its work. I’ve made that mistake before, alas.” He gestured carelessly at the stack of bodies in the corner.

“My lord…” The Red Templar guard was eying Dorian with a worried look. “The mage…”

Malkar turned around, his gaze travelling up Dorian’s arms to the bindings at his wrists. “My, my. It’s been a long time since I encountered a mage who could call magic to his fingertips without the benefit of a spell.”

Dorian hadn’t realized his hands were on fire, but he wasn’t surprised. Not that it did him any good. Such primal outbursts commanded very little power; these flames wouldn’t even be hot enough to burn through his bonds. Still, he could use this. He closed his eyes, concentrating his energy and flaring the flames as much as he could, as though he meant to do something impressive with it.

Malkar took the bait. “I don’t think so, Magister Pavus.” And before Dorian could brace himself, the corrupted Seeker hit him with a brutal wave of dispelling power, so spitefully supercharged that it blasted the air right out of his lungs. It was overkill and then some, leaving his whole body trembling as he tried very hard not to vomit. “I trust that will deter future gestures of that nature,” Malkar said. “Still, I’m impressed, and even more eager to begin your treatment. Such wonderful potential.” He turned back to his table of tools, considering his options.

That’s when Ellana Lavellan lost her mind.

She shrieked again, a feral cry of pure rage, and drew her knees up to her chest. Then, as Dorian looked on in astonishment, she pushed her feet up toward the ceiling, inverting her entire body in a display of raw, willowy strength that would have dropped his jaw if he hadn’t had a filthy rag stuffed in his mouth. Clasping the chain between her boots, she unhooked her wrists, grabbed the chain with both hands and dropped to the floor, and before Malkar could even finish turning around, she charged him bodily into the table, sending tools and red lyrium flying. The guard went for his sword, but Bull was quicker, swinging out with both feet and blasting a kick to the man's chest that sent him flying across the room. He hit the wall in a clatter of armour and did not move again.

Malkar seized Ellana by the throat, hoisting her off the ground while she squirmed and kicked in his grasp. She’d taken him by surprise, but she was ninety pounds soaking wet and bound in the bargain, defenseless as a kitten held by the scruff of its neck. Seth tried to lash out with his legs, but he was too far away, and the movement sent a gout of blood over his flank. Dorian and Bull could do nothing but watch helplessly as Ellana was hurled into the wall, landing in a heap near the stack of bodies in the corner.

“How very bracing,” Malkar said in icy displeasure. “I trust you’ve all got that out of your systems?”

Dorian spat the rag out of his mouth and said, “Not quite.”

Malkar narrowed his eyes. He’d been too hasty in stuffing the gag back in Dorian’s mouth, but he didn’t look all that worried about it. “You’re no threat to me, mage.”

“Are you sure about that? Your spectacularly overzealous dispel has left you in a delicate spot. It’ll be a few moments before you’re able to repeat that little trick.”

It was no accident. A man provoked was a man who made reckless mistakes, and Dorian Pavus specialized in provoking people. He’d goaded Malkar into being careless with the gag. Goaded him again into wasting his dispel. And now the corrupted Seeker was vulnerable – whether he realized it or not.

“Do your worst,” Malkar said with a shrug. “I am chosen by the Maker himself. Immune to fire, electricity, ice – anything you can throw at me.”

Dorian’s mouth curved like a blade. He’d been preparing for this moment since he first laid eyes on the contents of this room. “I’m disappointed in you, Aerion. Here I thought you were a scholar, but it seems you haven’t done your research. If you had, you would know your enemy.”

The Redeemer scowled. “What are you talking about?”

Dorian didn’t answer. He was too busy working his fingers, stripping the vibrations of the Veil down to a thin quiver, beckoning those that lay beyond. Then he whispered a single word, his eyes burning into Malkar’s as he completed the spell.

“You can’t harm me,” Malkar said again, but the words lacked conviction this time.

“Maybe not,” Dorian purred in his most velveteen voice. “But _they_ can.”

One by one, the corpses in the corner lurched to their feet. Not the half-rotted husks that occasionally wandered the land, but fresh bodies, human and elven and Qunari, their movements as strong and supple in death as they had been in life. One of them picked up the sword of the fallen Red Templar, while another seized the red lyrium dagger. The rest went for whatever they could find on Malkar’s table of horrors, taking up hammer and chisel and poker, surrounding the corrupted Seeker with murderous intent.

“ _Necromancer_ ,” Malkar spat, and for once, Dorian relished the shock and disgust that accompanied the word. The Redeemer glanced about frantically in search of a weapon, but the corpses had already grabbed anything of use. He was unarmed and outnumbered, and these foes didn’t care a whit about his red lyrium claws, or anything else in his little bag of tricks. After all, they weren’t getting any deader.

“If I were you,” Dorian said, “I would _run_.”

The Redeemer had little choice but to follow that inglorious advice, turning and fleeing into the corridor with a dozen undead in pursuit.

Dorian hated letting him get away, but he was powerless to stop it, and besides, he had bigger worries. Seth was fading fast, blood pouring down his side. He’d already been bleeding from his left arm, the artificial hand tearing at his flesh as it struggled to keep a grip on his stump. He would pass out soon, and already Dorian could see spidery threads of glowing red creeping along the edges of the dagger wound.

Bull tried to drag himself up the way Ellana had, but he couldn’t manage it. Neither he nor Dorian had the right build for such a trick. “What now?” the Qunari growled, abandoning the effort.

A groan sounded from the corner, and Ellana dragged herself up, bleeding from her temple and looking a little woozy.

“Are you all right?” Dorian asked.

“I… I think so.” She brought her a hand to her forehead, her fingers coming away bloodied. “What happened?”

“No time. Can you get us down?”

Ellana searched through what was left of Malkar’s tools and came up with a small bone saw. Grasping it between her knees, she sliced through her bonds and then dragged a chair over to Seth, cutting him down and doing her best to brace his fall. He was barely conscious now, and Ellana wept quietly, trying not to look at the ghastly wound spreading over his side as she lowered him gently to the floor. She cut Dorian down next, and he rushed to Seth’s side, expending his last drop of mana on a pathetic wave of healing magic that did no good at all. The Qunari came last, and he wasted no time gathering Seth into his arms and barging out into the corridor. “Come on!” he roared, and for a moment Dorian was back at Halamshiral, watching as the Iron Bull raced across the courtyard with the Inquisitor bleeding to death in his arms.

 _Never again_ , Dorian had promised himself that day. And now here they were. Everything he’d sacrificed, all the pain he’d put both of them through, only to end up smack in the middle of the very nightmare he’d been trying to avoid.

“Daerwin’s Mouth,” Bull said as they ran. “Red and the others are waiting for us there.”

 _What good can they do?_ Even if Vivienne healed the wound, that wouldn’t save Seth. Yet what choice did they have?

They headed for the crossroads, but they hadn’t got far before a trio of Carta came barrelling down the tunnel in the opposite direction. Dorian and the others were unarmed and vulnerable – but as it turned out, the dwarves weren’t the least bit interested in them, being rather preoccupied with the lyrium-infected predator on their tail. Malkar must have sprung more of his pets in order to cover his escape, and apparently he’d saved the best for last.

“You’ve got to be _shitting_ me,” Bull growled, skidding to a halt. “A dragonling?

There really wasn’t time to discuss it. The Carta were racing toward them as fast as their stumpy legs could carry them, the corrupted baby dragon right on their heels. Dorian and the others had no choice but to turn back the way they’d come, trying not to be distracted by the pitiful screams of the dwarves as they were overtaken by two hundred pounds of fire-breathing fun.

“We’ll never outrun it!” Ellana cried.

They raced through the chamber where they’d been taken prisoner. Dorian whistled for Maggie, and a moment later she fell in alongside, a low growl the only indication that she even noticed their pursuer. Up ahead, a right-hand turn would take them to the ancient lift – so Dorian banked left, hoping that the smell of fresh carnage at the lift would distract the creature hunting them. But the dragonling was more interested in chasing than eating, and it kept after them, gaining ground with every stride.

And then Dorian saw it: a cluster of deep mushrooms up ahead, too close together to be natural. “On my signal, jump as far as you can!”

Ellana threw him a panicked look. “What?”

“Just do as I say!”

Bull cradled Seth closer and nodded, putting his horns down as he picked up speed. They could hear the dragonling gaining on them, its claws raking the dirt as it closed the distance.

“ _Now!_ ” Dorian cried, and all of them – human, elf, Qunari, and wolf – leapt through the air, clearing the concealed animal skin covering one of Seth’s traps. The baby dragon wasn’t so lucky, hitting the pitfall with its full weight and plunging straight down, where it impaled itself on sharpened bones and chipped stone. They could hear it thrashing about in its death throes, gurgling and snarling. A gout of flame flared out of the pit. And then the flailing stopped, and the corridor was eerily silent once more.

“I am so fucking tired of this place,” Bull said, pithily.

The rest of the journey back above ground was uneventful, though it seemed to take forever. Each second that trickled past saw Seth slipping deeper into unconsciousness, his face so pale that his lips actually looked blue. Dorian couldn’t imagine what Vivienne or any of the others could possibly do for him, but they had no choice but to try.

They'd almost reached Daerwin’s Mouth when they came upon the others, a ragged but jubilant throng of Chargers and Circle mages and former Inquisition. “Krellis and his army are defeated,” Cassandra said, jogging up to Dorian. “The titan is secure for…” She trailed off, paling as her gaze fell to the Inquisitor. “Maker preserve us. Is he…?”

“Alive,” Bull said. “But that prick Malkar stabbed him with red lyrium. He’s been out for an hour now.”

Vivienne pushed herself through the crowd. “Set him down, Bull,” she instructed. “I’ve brought some excellent healers with me. Ashai, darling, your talents are needed.” She waved a young mage over, who took one look at Seth’s wound and bit her lip.

“I can stop the bleeding, Grand Enchanter, but the red lyrium…”

“You needn’t concern yourself with that, my dear. I will take care of it myself.”

Dorian’s traitor heart gave a pang of hope. “What do you mean, take care of it? As far I know, there’s no cure.”

“As far as _you_ know,” Vivienne returned with more than a hint of smugness. “Fortunately, I have resources that you lack. A recipe recently came into my possession for a potion that should slow the infection, if not counter it altogether. I cannot make it here, however. We need to get to Highever as quickly as possible, so that I can procure the proper ingredients.”

Dorian felt sick all over again. Highever was several days’ ride from here. They would never get there in time…

He wasn’t the only impatient one. “Ashai, my dear, you are not reconstructing the Veil here. How much longer do you require?”

“Almost, Grand Enchanter.”

As Dorian watched, Seth’s wound closed, and a little colour came back into his cheeks. But the infection was spreading rapidly; already, a spider’s web of glowing red covered Seth’s entire flank, from his navel to his spine.

“Hurry,” Leliana said. “We must get him to the ship.”

“Ship?” Cullen echoed. “What are you talking about?”

Bull scowled as he scooped Seth back into his arms. “Less talking, more walking.”

He took off at a run again, Dorian following closely behind, and soon they heard the breathy sigh of the sea. A magnificent ship loomed just beyond the cavern mouth, and for a moment Dorian thought it must belong to the Divine. Then he spied the flag of Antiva flapping bravely from its mast, and a familiar figure rushed toward him.

“Dorian!” Josephine flung herself into his arms, and he returned the embrace gladly, being in dire need of a hug just then. “I’m so glad you’re safe. But the Inquisitor… What have they done to him?”

“Red lyrium,” Dorian said dully.

Josephine’s hand flew to her mouth, and for a second they just stared at each other, sharing a moment of silent grief. Then a look of pure iron came into her eyes, and she whirled, striding purposefully toward a line of rowboats on the shore. “Hurry. The tides are with us – we can sail immediately.”

As Bull loaded Seth onto the rowboat, Dorian took a moment to look more carefully at the harbour. The wreckage of a second ship listed up against the cavern wall, its hull still smoking. “Looks like you got Malkar’s ride,” Bull said approvingly.

“The Promisers certainly weren’t expecting us,” Josephine said, her eyes still fierce. “We only had to fire the cannon twice. But I don’t think Malkar was on board when we destroyed it.”

“We’ll get him,” Bull said, gripping Dorian’s shoulder. “However long it takes.”

Dorian appreciated the gesture, but in that moment he didn’t give a flying nug about Aerion Malkar. All he cared about was his _amatus_ , lying ashen and unconscious at the bottom of a rowboat. With a ship at their disposal, they might just have a chance, if only Seth could hang on.

_Don’t you dare die on me, Seth. Don’t you dare._

He helped Bull shove the boat into the water, the hull scraping the rocks as he jumped inside and grabbed an oar. He didn’t even look behind him to see where the others were, rowing with all his strength as their little boat carved its way through the waves.

“Where shall I tell the captain to take us?” Josephine asked as she hauled on her oars.

“Highever,” Dorian rasped. “We have to get him to Highever.”

“We will,” Josephine said. “I swear it.”


	31. Chapter 31

The ensuing twenty-four hours passed in a blur. Dorian spent most of his time in Josephine’s cabin, watching over Seth. Ellana was his silent partner in this endeavour, and the two of them took turns trying to cool Seth’s fever with a wet cloth while Vivienne’s healers did what they could. Dorian set foot above decks precisely once, to take Maggie for a quick turn, and it was not a pleasant experience. He could feel the eyes on him from every corner of the crowded vessel, the silent questions pressing in on him like a physical weight. Thankfully, a dark look from Divine Victoria was all it took to keep the others at bay. Cassandra knew Dorian was in no state to cope with well-meaning platitudes, and presumably wished to avoid seeing anyone flung overboard by a cranky mage.

He was awakened sometime just after dawn, having fallen asleep in his chair. They’d arrived, apparently, and Dorian emerged from belowdecks expecting to find the bustle of a busy port. Instead, he found himself looking out at a private quay, over which loomed the grandest keep he’d seen on Fereldan shores. The lord and his seneschal awaited them on the pier. _Cousland_ , Dorian’s numb brain supplied. _Teyrn Fergus Cousland._ An old acquaintance of Josephine’s, apparently, through someone called Oriana. She explained all this as they rowed ashore, but Dorian wasn’t really listening, and he sleepwalked his way through the introductions, murmuring the appropriate banalities like a tranquil while his eyes tracked Seth being bundled up the steps toward the keep.

“Magister Pavus?”

Dorian blinked, forcing himself to focus on the man before him. A striking fellow, dark-haired and bearded, built like a warrior. His eyes were fringed with laugh lines, but a shadow came into them as he met Dorian’s gaze, and a glimmer of recognition passed between them. It was more than sympathy. This man had known true grief.

“I asked if you would like the servants to draw you a bath,” Teyrn Cousland repeated gently.

Heat flashed to Dorian’s cheeks. He couldn’t even imagine what he must look like right now. What a wonderful impression of House Pavus he was making – with Ferelden’s highest noble, no less. His ancestors would be screaming at him from beyond the Veil, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I’d rather stay with him, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. But I’d urge you to take care of yourself, Magister Pavus. You can do nothing for him right now, but when he wakes, you’ll want to be strong for him. For his sake as well as your own.”

“He’s right, Dorian.” Josephine put a hand on his arm. “When the Inquisitor wakes, he should see his loved ones looking well. And you need rest.” Glancing at Ellana, she added, “Both of you.”

“If you like,” said the teyrn, “we can install you in one of the rooms next to the Inquisitor, and have everything you need brought to you. You needn’t stray far from his side.”

Dorian exchanged a look with Ellana. She nodded wearily, and the two of them let themselves be led away while the rest of their companions rowed ashore.

The room they escorted him to was large and tastefully furnished, at least by Fereldan standards. He washed and shaved and did his best to choke down a bit of food, but he drew the line at sleeping; as soon as he felt human again, he went straight next door, where he found Vivienne examining Seth’s wound with a worried look.

She peeled back the bedclothes for Dorian to see, and he sucked in a breath. The infection had spread far, covering almost half the elf’s torso. His narrow chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and his skin glistened with sweat. “We are running out of time,” Vivienne said.

“The potion. Do you have the ingredients?”

“Of course. The teyrn’s people were most efficient in gathering the herbs I required. I administered the first draught not five minutes gone. But I have never tested the potion before. I cannot say how long it will take to work, or even how many doses. And the Inquisitor does not have long, as you see.”

Dorian swallowed against a dry throat. “You should give some to Ellana as well. She was exposed a couple of days ago. Just a pinprick, and I don’t think she suffered any ill effects, but it’s better to be safe.”

“Very well. You will stay with him, I presume? Try to keep him cool. And…” She paused, an uncharacteristically soft look coming into her eyes. “Talk to him, my dear. He may take comfort from the sound of your voice.”

Dorian reached for the flippant reply – _Of course he will. Everyone takes comfort from my dulcet tones –_ but it just wouldn’t come. All he could do was nod weakly, perching at the edge of Seth’s bed and dipping a cloth in a basin of cool water. He folded it and laid it against Seth’s brow, pushing back matted locks of silver hair. The elf looked oddly peaceful in spite of his ashen colour, and Dorian found himself stroking his hair, lingering over those beloved features in a way he hadn’t been able to in a long, long time.

 _Talk to him._ But what should he say? _If you die on me, I’ll kill you_ did not seem like quite the right note to strike. “I need you to wake up,” he murmured instead. “I need you to come back to me. I need you to…” He closed his eyes against the sting of tears. “I need you, Seth.”

The door creaked, and Dorian sat up a little straighter, blinking quickly. Ellana came in, Maggie padding alongside. She paused at the foot of the bed, as though she was afraid to see what had become of her brother in her absence. “How is he?”

Dorian considered giving her a comforting answer, but she deserved the truth. “I don’t know. Vivienne gave him a draught of the potion a few minutes ago, but I imagine it will be some time before we know how effective it will be.”

“Do you think he’s in pain?”

“He doesn’t seem to be. Not now, at any rate.”

Maggie approached the bed and sniffed at her master. She licked his fingers, and when he failed to stir, she whined. Then she jumped up on the bed, and Dorian didn’t have the heart to stop her, letting her curl up at Seth’s feet.

Ellana folded her arms tightly over her chest and shifted from foot to foot, looking over her brother’s ragged form. “Dorian, would you…?” She faltered, swallowing hard. “Would you wash him? He’s covered in the Deep Roads, and…”

“Of course.”

She drew a jagged breath. “Thank you. He would hate to be left like this. He was always so…” Then she broke down entirely, covering her face as she succumbed to a silent sob. Dorian started to rise, but she waved him off. “I’m all right,” she said, scrubbing her tears away. “I’ll wait outside. Are you sure you can manage on your own?”

“I’m sure.” Dorian tried for a smile. “Neither of you needs the trauma of you seeing your brother naked.”

She gave a shaky laugh and headed outside, leaving Dorian to strip off what remained of Seth’s filthy clothing and wash him down with the cloth. He took his time, lulled into a sort of trance by the methodical movements. The whisper of the cloth against Seth’s skin, the gentle patter of water in the basin as he wrung it out. It was surreal, doing this. Like going back in time – but not quite. The elf was so much thinner now. There were scars Dorian didn’t recognize, not all of them fresh. And of course the amulet that once rested against Seth’s chest – the interlocking halla horns that promised one day they would be married – that was long gone, locked away in a box in Minrathous. Dorian couldn’t help pressing a kiss to Seth’s chest, in the spot where the amulet would have lain. The elf’s skin was cool against his lips, his heartbeat strong and steady. That was a good sign, surely? “You’re going to be all right, _amatus_ ,” he whispered.

A prayer, or a promise? A little of both, perhaps.

The elf’s body twitched. "Dorian..."

Dorian sat bolt upright. Seth’s eyes moved under the closed lids, as if he was dreaming. Lines of pain were forming around his eyes, and in the furrows between his brows. _Something_ was happening, but whether good or ill, Dorian couldn’t say.

“ _Dorian._ ”

“I’m here.” Covering Seth to the waist, he called for Ellana. “I’m here,” he repeated softly as the younger Lavellan rushed into the room.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. Fetch Vivienne.”

By the time the Grand Enchanter and her healers arrived, Seth was in agony, writhing and screaming just as he’d done when the Anchor began its meltdown all those years ago. Indeed, the throbbing web of red along his side reminded Dorian more than a little of the blighted elven magic that had cost his beloved his left hand. Ellana couldn’t look, covering her mouth and turning away, but Dorian couldn’t look anywhere else, clutching Seth’s face in both hands and murmuring comforting words over and over.

“I can’t do anything for him,” said the healer Ashai. “But I believe what we’re seeing is actually an improvement.”

Dorian scowled over his shoulder. “Pray, how is his being in terrible pain an _improvement_?”

“I believe it’s a side-effect of the potion working against the red lyrium. The infection is fighting back, but it’s losing. I think we should give him another dose, Grand Enchanter. Right away.”

“When I desire your advice, my dear, I’ll ask for it.” Despite this remonstration, Vivienne did administer a second dose, taking advantage of Seth’s semi-conscious state to pour a foul-smelling draught down his throat. Almost immediately, the glow beneath his flesh dimmed, and his frantic writhing settled into tossing and turning. _It’s working_ , Dorian thought, allowing his heart to hope at last. Seth was still visibly in pain, but the fever had broken, and as they watched, he drifted back into a fitful sleep.

Ellana let out a long breath and whispered a prayer in Elven, pushing her hands through her hair just as her brother did when he was reaching his limit. Vivienne’s eyes met Dorian’s, and he knew they were having the same thought.

“Ellana, my dear, you are in dire need of some fresh air. Come, take a turn about the gardens with me. It will allow us to become better acquainted.” When Ellana hesitated, she added, “Your brother is in good hands, and besides – we need to fix some more potion for you. I understand you were exposed briefly in the Deep Roads?” Without waiting for a reply, she looped her arm through Ellana’s and practically dragged her out of the room.

Dorian was more than a little envious of that fresh air, but he had no intention of leaving Seth’s side. Especially not when the elf was still murmuring his name, his brow creased as he clutched the bedclothes with white knuckles. “I’m here,” Dorian whispered again, and when Seth reached for him, he crawled under the covers, drawing the elf’s body against his and wrapping his arms around him comfortingly. “I’m here, my love. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gradually, Seth settled, and for the first time in more than two years, Dorian fell asleep with the man he loved in his arms.

* * *

He couldn’t have said how long they slept, but it was nearing dark outside when Maggie’s head jerked up at the foot of the bed, and she growled protectively. A servant had slipped into the room, but he didn’t stay long, quietly setting a tray of food on the sideboard before withdrawing. Then Dorian realized someone else was in the room. Ellana sat near the window, watching them in silence. Dorian was still twined around Seth, and he started to stir, embarrassed, but Ellana whispered, “Don’t. Let him sleep.”

“How does he look?” Dorian whispered back.

Ellana scanned her brother’s face, and she smiled through a shimmer of tears. “He looks beautiful. You both do.”

Relief flooded Dorian’s breast, so much that he was almost giddy with it. “Well, of course we do. We are two exceptionally lovely men. But I’m asking if he looks _well_.”

She snorted and knuckled a tear away. “You’re an ass.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“He looks a lot better. There’s colour in his cheeks again. But I didn’t check the wound. I was afraid to wake him.”

Gently, Dorian peeled the sheet back to Seth’s waist, and the air left him in a rush. The ghastly web of red that had once covered the elf’s flank had retreated almost entirely, radiating only a few inches from the wound itself. What remained no longer glowed, looking more like a rash than anything else. And a scar had already begun to form over the stab wound, its healing vastly accelerated by Ashai’s magic.

“Thank the Creators,” Ellana breathed.

Cool air slipped in through the open window, bringing gooseflesh to Seth’s skin; Dorian drew the covers back up.

“Should I close the window?”

“No, thank you. He’d want it open.”

An enigmatic smile flitted across Ellana’s face, and she rose. “I’m starved. Would you like to join me?”

“I’ll be along in a bit.” It was a lie and they both knew it, but she pretended to believe him, slipping out the door and closing it behind her.

Now that he could breathe again, Dorian let himself bask in Seth’s nearness. In the feel of him, and the scent; in the luxury of wondering what he would say when the elf woke up. His eye fell upon the scar on Seth’s left shoulder, the mark left on him by the trio of human hunters, and he kissed it gently. As difficult as it had been to hear that tale, he was glad to know where the scar came from. Every new piece of intimacy was a treasure to him. He loved that scar fiercely, and he kissed it again – a little _too_ fiercely, perhaps, because the body in his arms stirred, and a moment later Seth rolled over.

Blue-green eyes met Dorian’s, peering at him through a screen of silver hair. “Hi,” the elf murmured.

A warm ache spread through Dorian’s chest. “Hi,” he whispered, and he could only imagine the look of longing that must have been in his eyes.

Not that Seth was in any condition to notice. Already, his eyelids were drooping again, though he was clearly fighting it.

“Sleep, _amatus_ ,” Dorian whispered, brushing the silver hair from his forehead.

Seth fought for a moment longer, but then he surrendered; his eyes closed, and his breathing smoothed out. Dorian watched him for as long as he could before he too surrendered, knowing the elf would be waiting for him in his dreams.


	32. Chapter 32

Dorian finds the Inquisitor on the mezzanine, surrounded as ever by grasping nobles. Andraste’s arse, can’t they leave him in peace for five minutes? Dorian has been waiting all afternoon to catch his _amatus_ alone, their brief encounter earlier having failed entirely to curb the craving gnawing at him. They’ve been apart for a month, and he’s climbing the walls with frustration, but he can’t get near the object of his desire. It’s as if every painted fop in Orlais has descended on the Winter Palace with the sole mission of cock-blocking the Tevinter ambassador.

Enough. Diplomacy will just have to wait. Shouldering his way through the crowd, Dorian says, “A word, Inquisitor?”

Blue-green eyes meet his, and the message is clear. _Help me._

“The Imperium desires a private audience with the Inquisition. We have a few suggestions to slip you. Some penetrating insights.”

Seth blinks incredulously, but he plays along. “Sounds like a stimulating conversation.”

“Oh, it will be. It only remains to be seen who comes out on top.”

“Must it be a competition?”

“We Tevinters like to play rough, as you well know.”

“Come now, Ambassador.”

“That’s the idea,” Dorian murmurs as he moves to stand beside the Inquisitor, hands folded demurely behind his back.

The nobles take their cue and disperse, leaving Dorian and Seth alone by the railing overlooking the courtyard. “Subtle,” Seth observes as he gazes out over the milling bodies. “Even for you.”

“Subtlety is overrated. What counts is results, and as you see, I’ve achieved them most admirably. Now come along, Inquisitor, or I’ll be forced to take you against this railing, in plain view of every noble in Orlais.”

Seth snorts softly. “Such a romantic. But you’ll have to wait a minute longer, I’m afraid. I’ve promised Divine Victoria a quick word.”

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum._ ” Dorian scowls, gripping the railing with both hands.

“What does that mean, anyway?”

“You will be the death of me.”

“No one ever died of sexual frustration.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Dorian returns tartly.

“I seem to recall a certain mage telling me that a little pent-up frustration was no bad thing.”

Dorian glances at his lover, eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Seth’s mouth quirks. “Maybe a little.”

This won’t do. It won’t do at _all_. Dorian refuses to be reduced to some slavering beast while his lover stands there cool as you please. If Seth wants to play dirty, Dorian will show him how it’s done.

He moves to stand behind the elf, hands resting lightly on his waist. He’s not revealing state secrets here; their betrothal is widely known. So long as he doesn’t do anything genuinely shocking, no one will bat an eye.

“You are an inveterate tease, Inquisitor,” he murmurs, his lips brushing Seth’s ear. “But I wonder if you’ve contemplated the matter fully. Do you recall the last time we were together at the Winter Palace?” It’s a rhetorical question. There’s no chance Seth has forgotten the fierce, angsty sex they had that night. It still ranks among their greatest hits, and the mere mention of it draws a breathy sigh from the elf’s lips. Dorian goes on, pitching his voice in that velveteen purr that always sets his lover’s pulse racing. “You were the impatient party then, as I recall. You had a number of suggestions for me, didn’t you? Imagine my shock upon hearing that sweet, innocent mouth form such filthy words. It was _so hard_ ”—his hands slide briefly to the elf’s hips—“to imagine how it would come about with the two of us sleeping in separate quarters.” Seth’s colour is up now, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t dare give himself away in front of the entire courtyard. Dorian, however, has no such compunctions, and he steps closer, so that his groin brushes discreetly against the curve of the elf’s arse. “But you sorted it out, didn’t you? And the next thing I knew you were clawing at me like a wild thing, so hungry you took my breath away. While the entire Orlesian court made toasts to your name, you were calling out _my_ name, over and over. Oh, you were _glorious_. And when you bit me… Do you have any idea how close I came to losing control? Imagine if I had. Burning down the royal villa would surely qualify as a diplomatic incident.”

Seth draws up against the railing, hiding his body’s inconvenient reaction to this memory.

Dorian’s mouth curls into in a smug smile as he tucks his face into the elf’s neck. “Does it ache, Inquisitor? What a pity there’s nothing to be done.”

Seth sighs. “I see it now. They’ve been right about you all along. You _are_ evil.”

“I trust your audience with Divine Victoria will be suitably brief,” Dorian says airily before abandoning his lover on the mezzanine.

He saunters down the stairs, thinking to drum up a bottle of wine while he waits – though if he’s done his job well, he won’t have to wait long. Turning, he glances back up to the balcony, but the elf is gone. He’s nowhere to be seen, and Dorian’s smile fades, a strange melancholy settling over him. _You’ve missed your chance_ , he thinks, though he’s not entirely sure where the thought comes from.

“Not missed but missing,” says a voice, and Dorian turns to find Cole standing behind him. The spirit fixes him with that eerily penetrating gaze, his eyes full of compassion. “It hasn’t been taken from you, Dorian. You just haven’t taken it.”

Dorian frowns. Something isn’t right, but he can’t put his finger on it. _I’m dreaming_ , he realizes. _This is a memory._ Part of one, at any rate, but he doesn’t remember this conversation. “Cole, are you…here? Is this now, in the Fade?”

The spirit cocks his head. “How could now not be now?”

Dorian sighs. He’d almost forgotten how frustrating it can be to try to get any sense out of Cole.

“This hurt,” Cole says. “It’s yours, but you don’t have to keep it. You can choose, Dorian.”

“Which hurt? My father? What are we talking about?”

“He’s waiting for you.” Cole glances back up at the balcony, and Seth is there once more, watching them.

“You’ve got that backwards,” Dorian says irritably. “I’m waiting for him.”

“He’s there, and you’re here, but you could be there. Or he could be here. It won’t matter to him. He just doesn’t want this.” Cole looks up at the balcony and then back to the courtyard, and the distance between them seems vast as an ocean. “ _This_ is the hurt.”

Dorian growls and rubs his eyes. This conversation is giving him a headache.

“You can choose,” Cole says again. “But you should hurry. You’re almost out of time.”

“What do you mean, out of time? _What are you talking about?_ ”

“It was good to see you, Dorian,” the spirit says, and he vanishes.

* * *

Dorian opened his eyes to find the first fingers of dawn slanting through the windows. Seth still slept peacefully beside him, and waking up to that face sent a stab of bittersweet longing through his breast. It was all he could do not to reach out and brush the hair back from Seth’s forehead, but he restrained himself, reaching instead for the bedclothes to take another look at the elf’s wound. The rash was unchanged from last night, but the fact that Seth was sleeping on his injured side suggested that it no longer pained him. The danger had clearly passed, and all that remained was for Seth to regain his strength.

Hunger gripped Dorian’s insides. He slipped out of bed, Maggie dropping down behind him in anticipation of a walk. The tray of food the servant had brought last night still sat on the sideboard – or so Dorian thought, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover fresh bread, boiled eggs, and a generous helping of bacon, all of it still warm. He ate his fill and treated Maggie to some bacon before returning to his own room, where he found his armour polished and some fresh clothing laid out. He’d say this for Teyrn Cousland: the man had excellent help – though the plain tunic and breeches they’d left him were altogether too _Fereldan_ for Dorian’s tastes. Honestly, why must everything in this country come in the approximate shade of shit? Would it kill them to add a splash of colour here and there? There was no help for it, however. His own clothing was covered in blood and Deep Roads filth, in dire need of washing and mending. So he changed and cleaned up and headed outside, finding himself on a gallery overlooking the gardens and the sea beyond.

Castle Cousland commanded an impressive view, and the salt air, though cool, was fresh and bracing. Dorian had almost forgotten what fresh air smelled like, and he closed his eyes, drawing deep. Then Maggie whined, reminding him of his duties. He glanced down at the gardens, trying to work out how to get there, and his gaze fell upon a pair of figures seated on a stone bench. Ellana and Cullen sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent in earnest conversation, despite the early hour. Had they been there all night? As Dorian watched, Cullen leaned in and stole a kiss – tentative at first, then rather more enthusiastically as Ellana responded in kind.

Dorian sighed. _Oh, Ellana, what are you doing?_ She was promised to another, a Dalish elf from some faraway clan. Whatever was happening down in that garden had no future and she knew it – though Cullen almost certainly did not. Dorian wanted to be angry with her, but he knew only too well what it was to let your heart run away with you, even when you knew it was doomed from the start.

Lavellans. Walking bombs, the pair of them, and they didn’t even know it.

He avoided the gardens altogether, taking Maggie for her walk along the ramparts instead. Just as they were finishing up, he was approached by a servant bearing a stack of letters and a scroll case. “Some correspondence for you, my lord.”

“Oh?” Dorian frowned. He’d left Austus with instructions to forward any letters to Val Royeaux, but how they came to be here, he couldn’t imagine.

The servant must have sensed his confusion. “Sister Leliana asked me to pass them along,” he explained.

Dorian’s mouth took a sour turn. Some things never changed. Four years after the Inquisition disbanded, and the Nightingale was still helping herself to his correspondence.

He sifted through the stack without much interest. The usual nonsense from the Magisterium, plus a letter from his mother demanding to know his whereabouts and scolding him for shirking his duties, as though he were a truant schoolboy. Then he opened the scroll case, and a familiar spidery script greeted him. It had been a long time since he’d heard from this particular correspondent – so long, indeed, that she apparently didn’t know that he and Seth had broken up.

_Magister Pavus,_

_I trust this finds you well, and in a state of wedded bliss. I enclose a recipe I have recently discovered, which I believe you will find useful. With red lyrium blighting most of Thedas, it seemed prudent to use the wisdom of the Well of Sorrows to develop a cure for its poison, and I am pleased to say I was successful. The formula is surprisingly easy, though the main ingredient is difficult to come by. The powder enclosed herein is dried dragon’s blood. The creatures appear to have some natural resistance to the Blight, which is the foundation of this cure. Take good note, however: the blood must be of a high dragon, or the potion will not work._

_I have passed the same recipe along to King Alistair – assuming the fool has someone of sense in his court – and to Grand Enchanter Vivienne. I would caution against spreading this information too widely, as it may result in the main ingredient becoming even more difficult to secure. But it seemed wise to have key allies in Tevinter, Orlais, and Ferelden in possession of this formula. Would that I had greater faith in two of the three, but in my Tevinter connection at least, I am confident. See that you do not disappoint me._

_Please convey my regards to the Inquisitor, and to his wolf. I trust the two of you are taking good care of her. She is a creature of the wilds, and you must allow her to remember it from time to time._

_Yours,_

_Morrigan_

There was no return address. No hint of where she was or what she’d been up to these past few years. Dorian tipped the scroll case, and a small pouch fell into his hand, along with a rolled up bit of parchment containing the recipe itself. He sniffed at the pouch and grimaced, recognizing the foul smell of Vivienne’s potion.

 _Madame de Fer, you little fraud._ She must not have realized Morrigan had sent the recipe to Dorian as well, and fully intended to take credit for its discovery. _Speaking of some things never changing…_

Returning to his room, Dorian found a small crowd gathered outside the Inquisitor’s door. Fergus Cousland chatted quietly with Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine, while Cullen and Ellana hovered nearby. They exchanged quiet greetings – and then the Grand Enchanter herself emerged, the healer Ashai in tow.

“Well?” Dorian propped himself against the wall, arms folded. “How fares your patient, Grand Enchanter?”

“Much better, my dear. I predict he will be right as rain in a day or two.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra breathed.

“Excellent news indeed,” Dorian said, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

“It’s fortunate that I was here,” Vivienne said loftily, preening in front of Divine Victoria and the teyrn. “One shudders to think what might have become of the Inquisitor without the benefit of my potion.”

Dorian opened his mouth – and closed it with a snap. Disingenuous and grasping she might be, but she’d saved Seth’s life, and come to his own rescue besides. He’d let her have this one.

Vivienne’s gaze fell to the scroll case in Dorian’s hand, and she must have recognized it, because she stiffened.

“I see your correspondence found its way to you, Dorian,” Leliana said cheerfully. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh, you know. Magisterial nonsense, letters from disapproving parents, so on and so forth.”

“And the pouch?” Leliana gestured at the powder in his hand, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Tea,” Dorian said.

“Ah. You must allow me to try it sometime.”

“Pray you never need to, Nightingale.”

Vivienne cleared her throat. “We should move along, my dears. We don’t want to wake the Inquisitor.”

“And we have plans to make,” Cassandra said. “Aerion Malkar is still out there. I will not let him disappear a second time.”

“Enjoy that,” Dorian said. “I’ll keep an eye on our dear Inquisitor.” Before anyone could respond, he waved Maggie to his side, slipped back into Seth’s room, and promptly locked the door.

Cassandra and the others could plot and plan all they liked, but they would have to do it without the Inquisitor. Seth needed rest, and Dorian was bloody well going to make sure he got it.

As though reading his mind, Maggie hunkered down just inside the door. “Good girl,” Dorian murmured, heading for his chair. “And if anyone but Ellana Lavellan comes through that door, bite them.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been hearing from several of you that times are difficult and you've been dealing with a lot. The last thing I want to do is leave you feeling depressed, so I'm going to do something I've never done before and post two chapters at a time. (Hopefully it will be clear why I've done this when you've finished reading.)
> 
> Hang in there, guys.

Seth remembered almost nothing about those first few days at Highever. The sleep that claimed him was unlike any he’d experienced before, thick and heavy and clinging. It was like sinking into a vat of honey. He’d drag himself to the surface for a moment or two, only to be sucked back under, enfolded in sweet darkness. He would dream of Dorian’s voice, or Ellana’s, or Vivienne’s; their words washed over him like a cool cloth, soothing but meaningless. He’d stagger out of bed long enough to relieve himself or drink some water before collapsing once more. Later, he would learn that one of Vivienne’s mages was keeping him magically sedated in order to accelerate the healing process. At the time, it felt as if he might never emerge from his hibernation, and the thought that he was failing in his duty plagued his dreams.

Then one day, the cobwebs suddenly cleared, as if by magic – which was of course exactly what happened – and Seth sat up, feeling lightheaded, lucid, and _ravenously_ hungry. He ate three boiled eggs and half a dozen pieces of bacon, and was promptly sick. Then he did it all over again, while his sister looked on with a wry shake of her head.

“Feeling better?” she asked when he’d finished his second breakfast.

“Still a little woozy, but other than that, I feel oddly normal.” He lifted the thin cotton tunic they’d given him and examined his stab wound. A shiny pink line cut across his side, but there was no trace of the red lyrium. “It’s remarkable,” he said with a sigh.

Ellana tilted her head. “Something wrong?”

“Only that I’ll never be able to repay this debt, and…” He lowered his voice. “Not to sound ungrateful, but Grand Enchanter Vivienne is not a person you want to owe favours to.”

Ellana laughed. “I had that impression. Still, it’s a small price to pay.”

“That remains to be seen,” Seth muttered, smoothing his tunic. “And speaking of debts – whom do I have to thank for bathing me? Not you, I hope.”

She laughed again. “Not me, thank the Creators. That would be Dorian.”

“Ah.” Seth could feel himself blushing, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. It was nothing Dorian hadn’t seen before.

“It was my idea, for what it’s worth. I hope it’s all right.”

“It was the logical choice,” he said, doing his best to sound nonchalant. “I’ll be sure to thank him.”

“See to it that you do,” Ellana said soberly. “He’s been incredible, Seth. I’ve never seen such devotion. He’s hardly left your side since the Deep Roads.” Smiling, she added, “He’ll be annoyed that you decided to wake up now, while he’s not here.”

“He’ll be more than annoyed.” Seth sighed. “He’ll be furious with me for putting him through this. Again.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Seth said, absently tossing a bit of bacon to Maggie.

“Or maybe he’s changed. The only way to know for sure is to talk to him.”

He scowled. “Not this again.”

Ellana scowled right back at him. “I told you we were having this conversation, and I guess we’re having it now.”

“This isn’t the time...”

“It’s _never_ the time, Seth. Just… let me say my piece, all right? You owe me that.”

He hesitated, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. His sister had crossed the continent for him, twice. Risked her life in the Deep Roads. Put up with gods-only-knew how much bickering and nonsense from his companions. The least he could do was hear her out. “All right. Say your piece.”

“Thank you.” She stood and started to pace, twisting the ring on her baby finger restlessly. Was this anxiety about him, or something else? He supposed he was about to find out. “I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life. If you don’t think you and Dorian are meant to be together, so be it. But if there’s even a chance that you are and you’re not willing to fight for it…”

“I spent years fighting for it, Ellana. _Years_.”

“And so? Since when does the great Inquisitor Lavellan just quit?” Seth gave her a sour look, but she ignored him, still pacing and twisting her ring. It had belonged to their mother, that ring. A gift from their father, when the two of them first began courting. Ellana had worn it for most of her life, but Seth couldn’t recall seeing her fidget with it this way. “I can see that it’s difficult,” she said. “But maybe it’s supposed to be. Maybe that’s the price of a gift that precious. And it _is_ precious, Seth. Sacred, even. _Druast._ ”

His breath caught. It was exactly the word he’d used with Varric that day on the ship. It had several possible translations, and they all applied. Sacred. Blessed. _Holy_.

“I see that now more than ever,” she went on. “Not everyone gets a chance at a love like yours. Maybe most of us don’t. And it hurts to see you turn your back on it. At least one of us should be…” She stopped herself, just as she’d done in the Deep Roads when they’d first started this conversation.

 _So. Not entirely about me after all._ That should have been a relief, perhaps, but instead, a worm of anxiety began to wriggle in his belly. “At least one of us should be what?” he prodded gently. “What’s going on with you, _da’len_?”

“I…” She hesitated a moment longer, as if she regretted bringing it up. But it was too late to back out now, and she knew it. “I’ve agreed to a match,” she said, avoiding his eye.

“A _clan_ match?” Seth felt the blood drain from his face. “Why would you do that?”

“One of us had to, and I didn’t want it to be you.”

“That’s absurd!” He was on his feet now too, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washed over him. “I’m the eldest. If anyone’s going to—”

“You’ve sacrificed enough,” she said, her expression eerily composed. “More than anyone should ever have to. It’s my turn.”

“No.” He shook his head fiercely. “I won’t allow it.”

She sighed. “This is not your decision to make, Inquisitor. Not this time.”

Seth brought a hand to his spinning head. The idea that his sister would give up all hope of happiness… He felt sick to his stomach. “Please, _da’len_ , think this through. You’re still young. You’ll meet someone, and—”

“I already have.” She glanced away, but not before he saw the flash of colour in her cheeks.

He digested that for a moment. “When did this happen?”

“Recently. Very recently, actually…” She was turning redder, and Seth realized it had to be someone he knew.

“Cullen,” he said softly. “It’s Cullen, isn’t it?” Her silence was all the answer he needed. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t know. It’s too new, but…” She smiled sadly. “I think I could. I think I might.”

Seth went to the window, gripping the sill to steady himself. “That settles it. You can’t possibly go through with the match. I won’t have two people I care about sacrifice so much, especially not on my account.”

“You keep talking as if there’s a choice, but it’s done. I’ve already agreed.”

“There’s always a choice, Ellana. Even if you don’t like any of your options.” His time as Inquisitor had taught him that, if nothing else. “I’ll speak to the keeper. She’ll understand. There are mitigating circumstances.”

“That will only increase the pressure on you. They’ll insist that at least one of us—”

“I know,” he said dully, gazing out over the gardens.

There was a long stretch of silence. “What will you do?”

He had no answer for her.

“What about Dorian?”

Seth met his own eyes, reflected in the glass. They seemed flat and lifeless, which was exactly how he felt. “Dorian and I had our chance. It’s your turn now.”

Another long silence. He gazed out the window without really seeing. Several times, he heard his sister start to say something, only to falter. Eventually she gave up, and he heard the door open and close behind her.

Seth pressed his forehead to the cool glass and drew a shuddering breath. He wouldn’t have thought there was anything left inside him to break, but apparently he was wrong. He could feel the pain blooming inside him like drops of blood in a basin of water.

 _Maybe it’s for the best_ , he thought. _Maybe this is what it will take to finally let go._ He was a prestigious match. There would be no shortage of offers. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he would find someone who moved him. It had been a long time since he’d been interested in a woman, and it was hard to imagine wanting it again, but…

He laughed hollowly. _Who are you kidding, Inquisitor?_ He would never want anyone but Dorian.

A cold ache gripped his throat. He would let it have its moment, and then he would swallow it down, the way he always did.

He had things to do.

* * *

“My people say Malkar was spotted here.” Leliana dropped a finger on the map. “Boarding a ship bound for Cumberland.”

The Inquisition council of old had assembled around Teyrn Cousland’s war table, along with Cassandra and Dorian. Just like old times – minus a few thousand soldiers, a hole in the sky, and the looming menace of a darkspawn magister. It was almost enough to make a fellow nostalgic, archdemons and all. As per usual, Dorian hadn’t actually been invited to the war council – and as per usual, he didn’t give a nug fart. If this was what it took to get near Seth, who’d been avoiding him all day, then so be it.

“What’s in Cumberland?” Cullen asked.

“The College of Magi,” said Cassandra. “The Forsythia estate…”

“And a very fine inn called the Diamond Lass,” Dorian put in. “I highly recommend it. The private booths are particularly convenient for—”

“Moving on,” Cassandra said with a sour look.

“We believe Malkar is just passing through,” Leliana said. “On his way to back to Minrathous.”

“Minrathous?” Dorian frowned. “What in the world for? Surely he’s already scrounged up every Venatori secret worth having?”

Leliana fixed him with her icy blue gaze. “A good question. Perhaps your contacts can help us find the answer, Magister Pavus.”

He sighed. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking? I’ll have to write to my _mother._ ”

“Oh dear,” Cullen said with grin.

“It can’t be that bad, surely?” said Josephine, ever the diplomat.

“My mother is under the impression that I already owe her a great debt, merely by virtue of being born.” Sighing, he added, “But as far as secrets go, her network in the Imperium is even better than Maevaris’s.”

“Good,” said Leliana. “Hopefully she can shed some light on Malkar’s plans. As for the rest of the Promisers, the bulk of their number were crushed in the Deep Roads. Teyrn Cousland has agreed to have his forces guard Daerwin’s Mouth until Orzammar makes a final sweep, but the titan should be secure, at least for now.”

“Leaving only the so-called Redeemer to deal with.” Cassandra leaned over the table with such a fierce expression that Dorian half expected it to catch fire. “I will leave for Minrathous as soon as possible.”

Josephine’s dark eyebrows flew up. “Er, forgive me, Your Holiness, but perhaps we should discuss this further. The leader of the southern Chantry cannot simply stroll into the Tevinter Imperium. Two Divines in the country at once? It would provoke a diplomatic furore, if not a war.”

“Then I will go in secret,” Cassandra said, her expression unyielding. “I let Aerion Malkar slip through my fingers once, and look what has come of it. A titan was nearly infected with red lyrium. The Inquisitor almost died. That madman will not live to cause more chaos. I will see to it personally.”

“As will I,” Seth said.

“Well, _there’s_ a surprise,” Dorian growled. “There are plenty of heroes kicking about the estate just now, Inquisitor. Perhaps you might consider leaving this to someone who wasn’t on death’s doorstep a mere two days ago?”

Seth ignored that. “Malkar has several days’ head start. How soon can we weigh anchor, Josephine?”

“Well…” Her gaze cut uncomfortably between Dorian, Seth, and Cassandra. “The ship must be resupplied. I suppose we might manage… the day after tomorrow?”

“Good,” Cassandra said, and that, apparently, was that.

The impromptu war council dispersed into the corridor. Dorian tried to catch Seth, but Ellana got there first, pouncing on her brother the moment he emerged and dragging him to a discreet remove. Dorian couldn’t hear much of what was being said, but the conversation was heated – on Ellana’s side, at any rate. Seth, of course, was perfectly composed.

“…my decision,” Ellana was saying, her voice rising in volume as her agitation grew. “I gave my word.”

Most of Seth’s reply was inaudible, but he finished with, “I still have influence, Ellana.”

“But—”

Seth put a hand on his sister’s arm and murmured something in Elven that might have been _trust me._ Then he walked away, leaving Ellana wringing her hands behind him.

Cullen had observed the exchange as well, and he came to stand beside Dorian. “What do you suppose all that was about?”

Dorian had his suspicions, but he certainly wasn’t going to voice them to Cullen. “I’m not sure.”

“They both seem out of sorts. Should we talk to them? Or perhaps it’s better to give them a moment?”

Dorian started to answer – and then a memory floated to the surface, strange and muzzy, like a half-remembered dream. Cole, at the Winter Palace, pale and earnest.

_You should hurry. You’re almost out of time._

Dorian had all but forgotten the dream until that moment, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. In all likelihood, the spirit had merely been a figment of his imagination. But if there was even a chance Cole had really been there, reaching out to him in the Fade…

“No time like the present, Commander,” Dorian murmured, and he set off in search of his love.


	34. Chapter 34

Dorian found Seth in the gardens, taking Maggie for a walk. A popular idea, apparently: a servant was coming down the path in the opposite direction, escorting a pair of mabari on leather leads. Or rather, they were escorting him, and when they saw the wolf, they started lunging against their leads, barking and making such a fuss that the poor servant was being dragged down the path, his boots leaving runnels in the gravel. Maggie, however, was unimpressed. She had only to flash her fangs and the hounds fell instantly silent, slinking past without another glance.

“I sympathize entirely,” Dorian remarked as he walked up. “Domestic animals must be reminded of their place. It’s precisely how I handle meeting southern Circle mages.”

There was a time when that would have earned him a laugh, but Seth merely smiled and resumed walking. It reminded Dorian of the early days, when they’d only just met. The Herald of Andraste had kept his cards close back then. Always so quiet. Guarded. And, Dorian had come to realize, in a great deal of pain. He didn’t need Cole to tell him that was the case now, too.

“I think it’s time you and I had a chat,” he said. “And I have a feeling neither of us wants to do it in quite so public a place. That path over there leads to the quay. After you, Inquisitor.”

Seth hesitated. “I’m not sure—”

“It wasn’t a question,” Dorian said, gently but firmly. “And I won’t be put off.”

Sighing, Seth steered Maggie toward the steps leading down to the water’s edge. Gulls wheeled overhead, their keening cries knifing through the cold air. It was, Dorian thought, appropriately melancholy.

“For the record,” Seth said, “I haven’t been deliberately avoiding you. I owe you more than I can express, and a clearing of the air is the least of it. I just… wanted to be in the right frame of mind, and I’m afraid I’m rather preoccupied just now.”

“Because of Ellana’s betrothal?”

Surprise flickered across Seth’s face. “You knew about that?”

“She told me the story some weeks ago. The _whole_ story,” he added significantly.

A brief silence ensued. Gravel crunched beneath their feet. Dorian glanced at the elf and found him studying his boots.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Seth? All those years, and not a word.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. Give you one more reason to…” He trailed off. Recalibrated. “I had no intention of going along with it, so what would have been the point? It would have caused a lot of grief for nothing.”

“The point would have been to let me know what you were going through, so we could shoulder it together. We were a team. We shared everything, or so I thought. It makes me wonder what else you were keeping from me.”

“Nothing, I swear. And I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, exactly. I just…”

“You just hoard your pain like a miser.”

Seth scowled. “Well, I could wear it like a shiny cape, but I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.”

Dorian laughed darkly. “I deserved that, I suppose.” He glanced at Seth, but the other man was looking away, shaking his head. He was frustrated with himself – which made two of them. “What are you going to do?” Dorian asked. “About Ellana?”

“I’m going to put a stop to it, if I can.”

“And then what? From what she told me, it’s one of you or the other.” Colour flooded Seth’s cheeks. Consternation? Embarrassment? Dorian couldn’t guess. He was tired of having to. “Are you planning to go through with it?”

“I may not have much of a choice.”

Dorian stopped abruptly, his boots scraping the gravel. “So that’s it, then? You’re going to marry a stranger, have babies, and live miserably ever after?” He could feel his composure slipping, but he was powerless to stop it. It was like being swept away by a raging river, carried against his will toward a plunging waterfall. One moment he was struggling against the current, and the next he was in freefall. “ _Why_ _must you always be such a fucking martyr?_ ”

Seth paled in anger, his mouth pressed into a hard line. But whatever furious words he had for Dorian, he kept them to himself. Of course he did.

“Damn you, Lavellan,” Dorian whispered, tears pricking behind his eyes. “Even now.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to talk to me! I want you to rage and scream if that’s what it takes!" He clutched angrily at his breast. "I want to know what’s in your heart. Why is that so much to ask?”

“You already know what’s in my heart." His eyes shimmered, and there was a quaver in his voice Dorian had never heard before. "You always have. But if it will please you to hear the words, I’ll say them. I’m broken, Dorian. I’m bleeding. I’m tired, _so damn tired_ , of doing what I must instead of what I want to.” The tears were spilling freely now, and Dorian wanted so badly to go to him, but he sensed it would be a mistake. As it was, Seth stood several feet back, as though he were ready to bound away like a frightened halla at the slightest provocation. “I thought I’d earned rest. Love. _A life_ , something genuinely my own. But it all fell apart, and I don’t know how to… I don’t know…” His breath skipped raggedly, and he looked away, shaking his head.

“I do," Dorian whispered, his own face wet. "Come back to me, Seth. Forget all this. You don’t have to agree to marriage. You don’t have to go after some washed-up madman. You can choose _yourself_ for once. We can be happy again.”

“ _You_ were happy. I was alone. I can’t do that again, no matter how much I love you. I _am_ choosing myself, even if it’s a bitter choice. I’d rather be unloved than alone.”

Dorian drew a sharp breath. “What a thing to say,” he whispered.

“It’s the choice you’ve left me.”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you _dare_ put this on me. _You_ left _me_ , remember? You could have talked to me. _Really_ talked. Helped me understand what you were going through. Instead you did what you always do, bottling it up until it’s too late.”

“What difference would it have made? Look me in the eye and tell me it would have changed anything. You were never going to let me move to Minrathous. Never.”

“I was protecting you.”

“You were protecting _you_.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you think you’re the only one who was afraid? We put our lives on the line day after day, you and I. How many times did I watch you fall, fearing you might never get up? How many times did I want to leave you behind? Like at Adamant. Do you remember what you said to me before the siege? _Where you go, I go._ I was terrified for you, but you insisted that I let you fight at my side, so I did. For years, you fought at my side. And then, when it came time for me to fight at your side, you wouldn’t let me. I understood that my fear was the price of our love, and it was a price I was willing to pay. But not you. For you, it was too much.”

“So I should have let you get yourself killed on my account?”

“ _Don’t you get it?_ ” Seth was practically screaming now. Dorian had never seen him so raw, and though he’d thought it was what he wanted – for Seth to finally let go – the sight tore at his heart. “ _I was almost killed two days ago, Dorian!_ This”—he yanked up his tunic, exposing the fresh scar on his side—“this is who I am! It’s who I’ll always be, and you know it! You can’t possibly have thought sending me away was going to solve anything. That I was going to spend the rest of my days curled up on the sofa reading books. It’s not about whether I die, it’s about whether _you_ have to watch me, or worse yet, feel responsible. It’s about you, Dorian. It’s always been about you!”

Silence fell between them, and for a long moment they just stood there, both of them trembling and flushed.

Eventually, Dorian found his voice. “Maker knows I have my regrets. But trying to keep the man I love safe isn’t one of them. I was in an impossible position, and I came up with the best answer I could. If you have a better one, I’d like to hear it.”

Seth sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. The anger seemed to leave him in a gust, like a possessing spirit abandoning its host. “Tell me, _vhen’an._ With everything that’s happened – good and bad, the Deep Roads, the Darvaarad, all of it – what do you regret more? The time we spent together, or the time we spent apart?”

Dorian met those blue-green eyes, and the longing that gripped him was a physical pain.

“There’s your answer,” the elf said wearily, and he turned away.

Dorian just stood there, reeling. The simplicity of Seth’s logic, the stunning clarity of it, was like a thunderclap. Suddenly, he understood what Cole had been trying to tell him.

_This hurt. It’s yours, but you don’t have to keep it._

_He’s waiting for you._

Dorian felt dizzy. _All this time_ , he thought numbly. _All you had to do was let it go…_

“You’re right,” he whispered.

Seth hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I can’t choose whether you’re in danger or not,” Dorian said, finding his voice again. “But I can choose whether I’m beside you when it happens. I want to be beside you, Seth. Now and forever, no matter what.”

The elf closed his eyes fleetingly. “It’s too late, Dorian.”

_You’re almost out of time._

Almost, but not yet. Dorian had to believe that. “It’s not too late. We can choose.” He closed the distance between them and took Seth’s face in his hands. “I can choose to let go of my fear, and you can choose to put your own heart first for a change. _We can choose, amatus._ ”

Seth let out a long, unsteady breath and rested his forehead against Dorian’s. “I wish it were that easy. You can’t know how much I…” He reached out, threading his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “I want you,” he whispered, and he was shaking now. “In every way it’s possible to want someone. I always have, and I always will, and it would be so easy to close my eyes and just…” He brushed the side of his face along Dorian’s. Dorian could feel him struggling, fighting the urge to give in to a kiss. “But we’ve been here before, _vhen’an._ ”

“Not like this. I wasn’t ready before. I see that now. Maker knows it’s taken far too long, but I finally understand. I swear to you, I’ll never let fear rule my heart again. Come to Minrathous with me. We’ll make a life together. _Really_ together this time. I mean it.”

Seth drew back, his eyes full of sorrow. “I know you do. You meant it last time, too, when we promised ourselves to each other. But then the Darvaarad happened, and everything changed. It will happen again, Dorian. There will be another Darvaarad, or another Deep Roads. That’s the life we lead. And then we’ll end up right back where we started.”

“We won’t. You have my word.”

Seth just smiled sadly.

Dorian wanted to scream with frustration. How could he make Seth see that this time would be different? “There’s nothing I can say except to ask you to trust me.” He took the elf’s face in his hands once more and stared into his eyes as though he could sear the words in place. “Because you’re perfectly right. You’ve heard all this from me before. What I’m asking requires a tremendous leap of faith. Frankly, you’d be mad to take it." Tears pricked his eyes once more. "I’m asking you to be mad, Seth. I’m begging you.”

The elf stared at him in silence. A thousand thoughts flitted through those blue-green eyes, but Dorian couldn’t catch hold of even one. It felt as if his entire life hung in the balance. Certainly, his heart did. If Seth broke it now, he would never recover. Of that he was certain.

“I… I need to think,” the elf said, visibly shaken. “I need to breathe. Can you let me sit with this?”

Dorian swallowed. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was better than an outright _no_ , and that was already more than he deserved. “Of course,” he said, pressing a kiss to Seth’s forehead. “Take all the time you need.”

He headed up the path toward the keep, grief and hope fighting for supremacy in his breast. The elf wouldn’t keep him in suspense for long, he knew. By this time tomorrow, he would know whether love or loss was to be his sigil from here on out.

Until then, all he could do was wait.

* * *

Dorian stared up at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head. He’d left the window open in spite of the chill air, and a full moon was setting in the sky. Well past the wee hours of the morning, and still he couldn’t sleep, his mind churning over all the things he should have said that afternoon on the pier. _A leap of faith. What an attractive offer, you gibbering idiot._ He wouldn’t blame Seth if he stole aboard Josephine’s ship in the middle of the night and sailed for Minrathous without him. In fact, Dorian reasoned, it might be preferable if he did. That way, if Seth rejected him, they wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of bumping into each other in those close quarters day after day. So terribly cramped, ships. And thin walls, too. The entire vessel would be able to hear Dorian crying himself to sleep every night, which would be decidedly inconvenient.

A soft knock sounded at his door. At this ungodly hour? Dorian drew a steadying breath, trying very hard not to give into hope as he slipped out of bed and padded barefoot across the cold stone floor.

Seth stood on the threshold, clad in nothing but the thin cotton breeches he’d been sleeping in. He looked almost fey, standing there in the moonlight, pale skin washed silver, hair so white it glowed. There was a heartbeat of silence, and then he stepped into Dorian and pulled his head down into a fierce kiss. Dorian’s breath left him in a rush as he answered with the pent-up passion of two long years, his tongue diving greedily into Seth’s mouth as he closed the door with the elf’s body and pinned him against it. Seth let himself be hoisted off the ground, wrapping his legs around Dorian and arching his neck as Dorian’s lips caressed his throat, his jawline, the tender spot beneath his ear. Then his mouth fixed against Dorian’s again, demanding more and more until neither of them could breathe. Still Dorian didn’t pull back, not wanting to miss even a single flick of that sweet tongue. No kiss had ever thrilled him like this. The combination of relief and joy and raw animal craving... It was utterly intoxicating, and the _need_ that roared through his veins was almost frightening.

“Maker, I missed you,” Dorian breathed. “I missed you so much, Seth.”

The elf answered with his body, grinding against Dorian with unmistakable intent. Dorian carried him to the bed, and the look in Seth’s eye when Dorian tossed him onto his back sent a throb of desire straight to his cock. He was dizzy with it, and not just because it had been a _very_ long time. He’d never seen Seth look more beautiful than he did in that moment – or more feral, and the sight was almost enough to make him climax then and there.

But he didn’t, because that would have been _humiliating._

Instead, he focused on his lover, tearing the clothing from his body and taking Seth into his mouth, as deep as he would go. The elf gasped and bucked his hips, and that only got Dorian’s blood roaring even more; it seemed there was no way this could unfold that he wasn’t in danger of arriving at a premature conclusion.

His enthusiasm put his lover in a similar quandary. Seth moaned softly and said, “I’m not going to last long.”

“Then don’t,” Dorian purred, climbing up his lover’s body and hovering over him. “But I want to see it.”

He slid a hand up the elf’s thigh, taking his time now, watching Seth’s pupils dilate with anticipation. Dorian had always been a great believer in the erotic power of anticipation, and Maker knew they had enough of it stored away. How many times had he dreamed of this? Seeing this gorgeous creature pinned beneath him, those magnificent eyes glazed with desire? He took Seth's cock in his left hand, stroking languidly while his other hand continued sliding up the elf’s thigh and over the curve of his arse. He made his lover wait a little longer, and then he gave him what he wanted, but _slowly_ , letting the need build into a sweet ache. Seth moved against him, eyelids lowering as pleasure took him.

“ _Shh_ ,” Dorian crooned. “Take your time. We have all night.” He paused to brush a lock of silver hair out of Seth’s eyes. “I wish you could see yourself right now. It’s so fucking beautiful.”

Seth wasn’t really listening. He was beyond it, rocking against Dorian’s movements with mounting urgency, breath hitching with each beckoning curl of a finger. His breathing was strained now, skin flushed, long eyelashes fluttering as he climbed toward ecstasy. Dorian waited until he thought his lover couldn’t take any more, and then he pressed his lips to the elf’s ear. “Come for me, _amatus_ ,” he whispered, and sent a tiny pulse of cold into his finger. Seth arched and cried out, head thrown back, mouth parted, and it was _so beautiful_ ; Dorian grazed his mouth against his lover’s, tongue darting teasingly along his lips while Seth came in shuddering gasps.

“ _Dorian_ ,” he breathed, and it sounded like a prayer. “ _‘Ma vhen’an._ ”

“ _Bellanaris_ ,” Dorian whispered, drifting soft kisses down Seth’s neck. Sitting up, he added, “At least, I hope so. This is a _yes_ , isn’t it? Although if you just needed to get off, I’m certainly not one to judge.”

Seth snorted and burrowed down into the bed with a satisfied groan. “You’re an ass,” he managed finally.

“You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”

Seth pulled his head down into another kiss, sweet this time, and lingering, and Dorian felt something dried and withered inside him bloom again. This was worth anything. It was worth _everything_.

“ _Ar lath ‘ma vhen’an_.”

Dorian had never thought to hear those words again, and it almost undid him. “This is all I ever wanted,” he said, his voice husky. “ _You_ are all I ever wanted. I can’t believe I almost lost you forev—”

Seth silenced him with gentle fingers against his lips. “I want you to know, I never broke my vow.”

“It doesn’t matter. You had every right.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t.”

“Nor did I.” Clearing his throat, Dorian added, “Which I don’t mind telling you beats my personal best by a considerable margin, and is a record I hope never to break.”

Seth sat up suddenly, rolling Dorian onto his back and straddling him. “So that’s your record for the longest gap, is it? What’s the shortest?” He slipped his hand inside Dorian’s smalls and grabbed him, bringing him back to rigid attention.

“I don’t know,” Dorian said. “Shall we find out?”

“I think we’re obliged,” Seth said solemnly. “Science demands it.” Only the barest flicker of mischief lit his eyes, the sort anyone might miss. Anyone but Dorian.

Crossbow bolt, straight to the heart.

“Marry me, Seth. Here. Tomorrow. Cassandra can—”

“No.” Seth climbed off him, serious again. “Not now. Not like this.”

Dorian swallowed. “But I thought…”

“I’ve waited six years to marry you. I’m not going to rush through it because you want to make a grand gesture. When we get married, it will be with cool heads and open hearts, with nothing dark hanging over us.”

“ _When_ we get married?” Dorian echoed, embarrassed at how fragile he sounded.

“When.” Seth’s hand drifted back to Dorian’s smalls. “Now hurry up and take those off. Science waits for no man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated added a warning to this chapter but dangit I didn't want to ruin the suspense. Hope nobody was caught too off guard.
> 
> Maker knows I made you wait for this. I hope it was worth it!


	35. Chapter 35

“We should get up,” Dorian murmured.

The body in his arms stirred, but only to nestle in closer. “Why?”

“For starters, I’m concerned about your health. You’ve hardly eaten in three days, and pleasant though it would be to subsist entirely on clear mountain water and orgasms, I’m not sure it’s possible.”

Seth rolled over, silver hair invitingly tousled, looking more appealing than anyone had a right to after so little sleep. “I am hungry,” he admitted. “And there’s a lot to get done today if we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Dorian sighed. “Still set on that, are you?”

“Dealing with Malkar?” A coy little smile hitched his mouth, and he shrugged. “Might as well. I’m heading to Minrathous anyway, so it’s on the way.”

The words brought a pleasant flutter to Dorian’s insides. _He’s coming home._ It still felt a little like a dream, and Dorian couldn’t help reaching out to touch him, reassuring himself that his _amatus_ was really here, safe and warm and in his bed. He brushed the hair from Seth’s eyes, his thumb drifting over the _vallaslin_ on the elf’s cheekbone. _What you must look like right now, Pavus. A lovesick puppy._ And he didn’t care in the slightest.

Seth turned his face into Dorian’s hand and kissed his palm. “What are you thinking?”

“Syrupy thoughts. Quite ridiculous, I assure you.”

“Tell me. We’re doing that now, aren’t we? Sharing everything?”

“Very well, you greedy thing. I’m thinking that I love you madly, and that…” The playful tone evaporated. “And that I’ve never wanted to turn back time more than I do right now. What we put ourselves through, you and I. So much time wasted. So much needless heartbreak.”

“Not needless.” Seth rolled onto his back and folded his hands behind his head, staring contemplatively at the ceiling. “It was a journey we needed to take. This was our long walk.”

Dorian's brow stitched. He was familiar with the Long Walk, of course; the exodus of the elves from Tevinter occupied a central place in Dalish lore. Its relevance to his love life, however, was a little less clear.

“Our journey toward understanding,” Seth explained patiently. “ _Ar’an ema suledin._ ”

 _Suledin._ To find strength through enduring pain or loss. “Maker knows we got the suffering part down, anyway,” Dorian muttered.

“I’m serious. Our suffering was not without purpose. We understand each other in a way we didn’t before. That will give us the strength to endure anything. _Ar’an ane garem._ ”

“We’ve arrived, have we?” Dorian’s gaze drifted over those beloved features. “Does that make this our _Halamshiral_?”

“Minus the wyvern down beds.”

Dorian couldn’t help smiling. It was just like Seth to be philosophical about it all. If he could give his suffering meaning, then it was easier to endure. “So if we hadn’t been apart, we wouldn’t be here now, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Though that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to recover what was lost. We have a lot of catching up to do.” He shifted closer, his hand sliding appreciatively down Dorian’s meticulously sculpted body.

“Again? Maker’s breath, Lavellan, you’re insatiable.”

“I did tell you I was hungry,” Seth murmured, trailing little nips across Dorian’s chest. He paused, sighing. “But I’m also tender in all the wrong places. I need a break.”

“That’s a relief. Making up for lost time is well and good, but I’ve no desire to spend the next two days walking like a ninety year-old.”

Seth snorted and rolled out of bed. “Nothing a nice long soak won’t sort out. Let’s order baths, shall we?”

So they did, followed by breakfast, which they shared in Seth’s room. Then they collected Maggie and ventured forth, a happy little family once more. The late autumn air was crisp and bracing, fragrant with sea breezes and the scent of ripe apples from the orchard. Below, past the gardens, Josephine’s ship carved a misty figure out of the horizon; already, Dorian could make out rowboats coming and going as the crew restocked for their onward journey.

“The leaves will be falling in the Emerald Graves soon,” Seth said. “I should be preparing the villa for winter.”

“Just so you know, we’re not selling that villa.”

“Is that so?”

“The only villa in all of Orlais not permanently disfigured by gaudy gilding, frightful frescos, and an alarming overabundance of lion statues? I think not. I poured every ounce of my considerable decorating talent into that villa, and the thought of it being pawed over by some up-jumped chevalier gives me nightmares.”

Seth shook his head. “You and I have very different nightmares.”

“Also…” Dorian slipped his fingers through the elf’s. “Because summers with you at the villa are the happiest memories of my life.”

Seth reached for him, and they kissed on the wall walk for a time, just basking in each other. Then they resumed their little stroll, and before long they spotted Cassandra, Cullen, and Leliana taking a turn about the garden.

“Plotting, no doubt,” Dorian said.

Seth sighed. “I’d better join them. We need to work out who exactly is coming along on this little voyage. Any thoughts?”

“I’ll leave the planning to you, _amatus_. Just make sure Josephine equips our cabin with suitable comforts. We’re going to be spending a _lot_ of time in it.” He punctuated this remark with a cheeky pinch of the elf’s arse. “Run along now, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Seth murmured, brushing his lips across Dorian’s. “I’ll see you later.”

Mist rolled in from the sea, laying a soft white carpet over the stones as Dorian made his way along the wall walk. Between the clouds at his feet and the buoyant feeling in his breast, it literally felt as if he were walking on air. He was vaguely aware of a dreamy little smile tugging at his mouth, but fortunately, there was no one there to see it. Until he rounded the next bend, that is, whereupon he found Varric, Sera, and Rainier coming the other way. The Viscount of Kirkwall looked almost himself again, having cut his hair and trimmed his beard down to a vaguely civilized length. “I’m pleased to see it was really you under all that hair,” Dorian said by way of greeting. “I was half afraid we’d absconded with some random Duster.”

“Good to see you too, Sparkles.”

“Decided to keep the beard, have you?”

Varric ran a hand over his ginger-fringed jaw. “Thought it was time for a change.” Cocking his chin in the direction of the gardens, he added, “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you and Frosty patched things up.”

“Saw that, did you?”

“Pretty sure the whole castle saw that.”

“We’ve worked it out, yes.”

“For good this time?” Sera said. “Because this whole breaking up and getting back together and moping about thing is stupid.”

“Hard to disagree with that analysis, though to be fair—”

“ _Stupid._ ”

Rainier chuckled. “The lady has spoken.”

“You’re looking much restored as well,” Dorian remarked, glancing the Warden up and down. “Combed your fur and everything.”

“And I see you’ve gone and found yourself the ponciest outfit in all of Ferelden.”

Dorian cast a critical eye over his brand-new ensemble, a half-competent confection of brocaded velvet trimmed with silver thread. “Still a little drab for my tastes, but one makes do.”

“So does that mean the Inquisitor will live in Minrathous?” Rainier asked, returning to the matter at hand. “Can’t see you walking away from your responsibilities in the Magisterium.”

“You’re right, I can’t do that. But I can stop fussing over Seth at every turn. He’s amply proven his talent for survival. I just need to trust in it, that’s all.”

Rainier clapped his shoulder. “Smartest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth.”

“Hurray for me,” Dorian said dryly. “Learning lessons, et cetera.”

“Better late than never.”

Dorian let him have that one. “And what about you? Back to Warden business?”

Rainier nodded. “The Wardens we freed from the Deep Roads have congregated in Highever. I’m heading there this afternoon. We’ll patch up what needs patching, and then we’ll find those open darkspawn tunnels and seal them up. The Inquisitor knows where most of them are, and we’ll track the rest down eventually.”

“And you two?” Dorian’s gaze cut between Varric and Sera. “Staying or going?”

“In it till the end, aren’t I?” Sera said. “That Malkar needs an arrow up the arse.”

“Much as I’d like to be there for that,” Varric said, “I’ve been away too long already. Maker only knows what kind of shit they’ve got themselves into back home while I’ve been gone. Besides, you’ve got this covered. Malkar’s on his last legs.”

“Let’s hope so,” Dorian said. “But if you change your mind, you’re always welcome in Minrathous. Maevaris is very fond of you, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You Tevinters don’t really do subtlety.”

“Says the man who wears his own chest like a piece of jewellery.”

Varric started to reply, but something over Dorian’s shoulder distracted him. Dorian turned to look – and was nearly tackled to the ground as Ellana Lavellan flung herself into his arms with a squeal. He hugged her awkwardly, embarrassed and appalled and perhaps just a _little_ bit delighted. She grinned and planted a kiss on his cheek, only to hug the stuffing out of him once more.

“Take it easy there, Feisty,” Varric chuckled. “If he blushes any harder, he’s going to catch fire.”

“Nonsense,” Dorian said airily. “I never blush. I cannot be shamed. I am, in fact, utterly shameless.” This convinced precisely no one, but one had to keep up appearances.

“Feisty?” Rainier echoed.

“He’s been calling me that for two days,” Ellana said, trying not to look pleased at this official induction into the family.

“Bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Dorian remarked idly.

“Maybe,” Varric said, “but the alliteration was just too good to pass up.”

Sera crumpled her brow. “Litterwhatnow?”

“Alliteration. The Lavellan duo. Feisty and Frosty? Come on, you gotta admit, it’s perfect.” He laughed. “In fact, it’s so good I might make a story out of it. A what-if retelling of the Inquisition, with two Lavellans in charge instead of one. I’ll call it _Inquisitors Lavellan._ Or wait… _Fire and Ice!_ ”

Sera groaned.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Varric sighed. “Anyway, the three of us were just about to get in one last game of Wicked Grace. You two in?”

“I don’t know how to play,” Ellana said.

“That’s all right, neither does Sparkles.”

“Very droll, Master Tethras. Only I’m surprised you’d see fit to heckle, given how deeply you are in my debt.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Did I not just come to your glorious rescue?”

“Ha! Is that what you call it? I seem to recall saving _your_ ass.”

“Mistakes were made,” Dorian allowed. “In any case, we’ll see who has the last laugh. You’ll want to be careful betting against me. I am excessively wealthy now.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Sparkles. I’ll wipe that shit-eating grin right off your face.”

Sera snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“Good luck indeed,” Dorian said. “I might be the happiest man in the world just now.”

“Ugh,” said Rainier. “Are we going to have to listen to a magister being sappy all afternoon? It’ll be torture.”

“Not half as torturous as listening to your stories, Thom, but we all have our burdens to bear...”

And so on, along the wall walk, down to the bailey, and up the steps to the great hall, an unending stream of banter between old friends who knew each other entirely too well.

Dorian wore his shit-eating grin the whole way.

* * *

“It’s done,” Seth said, alighting on the bench beside his sister.

Ellana didn’t answer right away. She avoided his gaze, watching absently as songbirds frolicked in the sparkling fountain before them. “I wish you hadn’t,” she said quietly.

“No, you don’t. And besides, it’s only a letter. It remains to be seen what the keeper will say.”

“You know what she’ll say. She’s never denied you anything. She can’t.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

Ellana met his eye at last, her gaze a confused brew of guilt and relief and hope. “You always taught me that duty comes first,” she said. “And now here I am, shirking it.”

“We both are. But you were right in what you said before _._ Love is sacred. Even the chance at love is sacred. A gift from the gods, and it shouldn’t be turned aside. The clan will understand.”

“What if they don’t? What if I can never go back to them?”

“Do you want to go back?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Suppose you and Cullen do decide you want to be together. Have you considered what that would look like?” Seth was uncomfortably aware that he might be overstepping his bounds as big brother here, but he’d practically raised Ellana, and that duty never truly ended. “Cullen may not be Tevinter, but he’s still human. It’s not as though you can just bring him home and live among the clan.”

Ellana’s gaze fell to her boots. “I know.”

“Though I suppose you could move to Wycome, at least. One foot in, one foot out, as it were. You’re lucky that way.” A pang of fierce longing seized Seth in that moment, and he fell silent. _Some things, when you lose them… You never stop missing them._ So he’d said to Varric that day on the ship. He’d been thinking about Dorian, but it applied equally to his clan. He would feel that loss for the rest of his days, he knew.

“Wycome,” Ellana murmured, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to her until that moment. Which it probably hadn’t. Thinking things through had never really been Ellana’s strong suit. “I suppose we could, but…”

Seth tilted his head. “But?”

“When I think of all the places I’ve been these past couple of months. All the things I’ve seen.” She glanced at him once more, and her eyes were alight with wonder. “There’s a whole world out there I know nothing of. And I _want_ to, Seth. I want to see it all!”

He smiled. He knew just how that felt. Still… “That will have challenges of its own. You’re no stranger to the hostility our people face among the humans, but out here…” Seth shook his head. “It’s on another level entirely.”

“I know. I got a taste of it in Val Royeaux. They think we’re even lower than city elves.” Her fingers drifted to her face, tracing the dark branches along her cheekbone. “Do you ever wish you didn’t have them?”

“The _vallaslin_?”

“Now that you know what they mean. That they’re not what we thought. Do you ever wish you could just get rid of them?”

“I could have.”

Ellana gave him a startled look. “What do you mean?”

“Solas…” He sighed. “ _Fen’Harel_ , I suppose I should say… offered to remove them once. With magic.” He felt awkward saying it aloud. He’d never told anyone this story, not even Dorian.

“Did you know what they were at the time?”

“What they were is what they’ve always been. That doesn’t change simply because Fen’Harel says so.”

She cocked her head, frowning. “You don’t believe he was telling the truth?”

“I’m sure he was, but it doesn’t matter. What the _vallaslin_ meant to some other people thousands of years ago isn’t the point. These”—his fingers brushed his own _vallaslin_ —“are just lines of ink. What imbues them with meaning is the people. _Our_ people. _Our_ culture, not Solas’s. Whatever Sylaise actually was, whoever she might have been, doesn’t matter. It’s the symbol that has meaning. The values we choose to honour. My _vallaslin_ are a symbol of my commitment to protecting the vulnerable. That’s what they mean, because that’s what our people say they mean. Perhaps one day, if the influence of the Dread Wolf spreads, they will mean something different. Until then, I wear my _vallaslin_ with pride.”

“Even out here, in the human world?”

“Especially out here. Values are worthless until they’re tested. That’s when you prove that they’re real.”

Ellana smiled and dropped her head on his shoulder. “When did you get so wise?”

“I’ve always been wise. You’ve just been too stubborn to see it.”

“That must be it.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching a pair of bluebirds shake water from their feathers. “What are you going to do next?” Seth asked at length.

“Return with you to Minrathous, of course.” When he started to object, she raised a hand. “It’s not up for discussion, Inquisitor. Besides…” She smiled. “I’ve got a bet going with Sera, to see who can shoot the most arrows into Aerion Malkar before he falls.”

He laughed. “That’ll be some fierce competition. I might want a piece of that action myself. But you can’t fool me,” he added, glancing at her sidelong. “You’re coming because Cullen is coming.”

Ellana blushed. “That, and…” She gave his arm a squeeze. “I want to be there when you and Dorian get married.”

“You’ll be kin. Sister to a Tevinter magister. Who would have thought it possible?”

“As it turns out, the world is full of things I didn't think were possible.” Smiling, she rested her head on his shoulder once more. “Isn’t it great?”


	36. Chapter 36

The party that set sail from Castle Cousland was a good deal smaller than the one that had descended upon it days before. Rainier returned to the Wardens, and Krem and the rest of the Chargers headed back to Daerwin’s Mouth to help clear out the remaining Promisers. Vivienne departed for Val Royeaux in an equipage so outrageously grand it would have made the Archon blush – accompanied by Leliana, who would take charge of Chantry matters while Divine Victoria continued her “pilgrimage” to an undisclosed location. Josephine dropped Varric off in Kirkwall and took the rest of them as far as Cumberland before making her own farewells, leaving the seven who remained to set out along the Imperial Highway.

By day, Seth pushed them hard, hoping they might catch up to Malkar, who had several days’ head start. By night, they stayed in humble inns, the better to avoid being recognized. And while Dorian might have wished for slightly more civilized accommodations, the luxury of spending every night in the arms of the man he loved was more than enough to make up for it. The journey had the feel of, if not quite a honeymoon, at least a road trip with friends.

Not that he was sorry to see it come to an end. An entire season of living out of a trunk was more than enough, and by the time the spires of Minrathous loomed up out of the mist, Dorian was anxious for home. All he wanted was a cool drink in his own gardens – and his _amatus_ in his own bed.

 _No_ , he corrected himself. _Our gardens. Our bed._

The thought must have brought a sappy smile to his lips, because Seth guessed it easily enough, slipping his arms around Dorian’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “Home sweet home,” he said, gazing out at the approaching city.

“You sound nervous.”

“A little,” Seth admitted. “As many times as I’ve been here, I’ve never really _lived_ here. Never experienced any of the culture.”

“Some of it you’ll love. The history, especially. Provided you can look past…” He trailed off, feeling foolish.

“I don’t need to look past it.” Seth kissed his neck reassuringly. “History is always painful, at least if it’s true.”

“Still.” Dorian sighed. “I can’t pretend this is going to be easy for you. For either of us, really.”

“ _Easy_ is for lesser mortals,” Seth said lightly. “Whatever the Imperium throws at us, we can handle.”

Cassandra joined them, propping her elbows on the railing as she considered the gleaming city on the horizon. “I have never been here before. The paintings do not do it justice.”

“Nothing can,” Dorian said wistfully. “For all her faults, she is the greatest city in the world. I only wish I could show you half of it. But I’m afraid we’ll have to be quite careful, Your Perfection.”

“I am not here to play the tourist in any case. Unless Malkar continued overland, he has been here for several days. Let us hope your mother was able to learn something of his plans.”

“Oh yes, by all means, let us hope. And I do so look forward to finding out what she’ll want in return. She’ll milk it for all it’s worth, you know.”

“We honour your sacrifice, Magister Pavus,” Seth said gravely.

Dorian gave him a wry look. “You’re going to have to work on that wit of yours. It’s far too dry for Tevinter sensibilities. No one will realize you’re being sarcastic. You’ll be the painfully earnest savage with a heart of gold.” Then he saw the sparkle in his lover’s eye, and he sighed. “I’ve just guaranteed you’re going to work that angle, haven’t I?”

“Angle?” Seth tilted his head, the very picture of innocent curiosity. “How do you mean?”

“Maker’s breath, what a spy you would make. No one would ever see you coming.”

Seth smiled. “I might be a little too recognizable for a spy. Even if I have let myself get a little shaggy,” he added, pushing his too-long hair out of his eyes.

“Could be an assassin, though,” Bull chipped in, coming to stand on Cassandra’s other side. “Good coin to be had, and there’s plenty of assholes kicking around this place that really, _really_ need killing.”

“I will pretend I did not hear that,” Cassandra said.

Dorian’s largest carriage awaited them at the docks. Ordinarily, one was better off navigating the narrow streets of Old Town in a palanquin, but the four-in-hand was large enough to accommodate all of them – and enchanted enough to deter even the most determined from trying to sneak a peek at the passengers within. Pulled by a team of sleek Imperial trotters and inlaid with elaborate gold runes, it was unmistakably the equipage of a magister, exuding wealth, taste, and just a _soup_ _ç_ _on_ of touch-me-and-die-horribly.

“Nice ride,” Bull said. “But I’m not sure my horns will fit. What say I meet you back at your place?”

Dorian smirked. “Admit it. You just want to roam the streets aimlessly for a while.”

“Not aimlessly. I want to hit that place in Vivazzi Plaza on the way. The dancers go on at sundown.”

Just as well, frankly. Bad enough he’d be letting the wolf inside, but once the smell of sweaty Qunari got into the upholstery, there was no getting it out.

“As for the rest of you…” Dorian gave a theatrical bow in the direction of the carriage, and one by one his little ducklings hopped inside.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen murmured as they trundled along the cobbled streets. “It’s… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Magnificent?” Dorian suggested. “Awe-inspiring?”

“I was going to say _crowded_.”

“It is remarkably cosmopolitan,” Cassandra observed, scanning the foot traffic on her side of the carriage. “There are people from all over Thedas here. And I can feel the magic crackling off every surface. Including this window.”

“Which is why you can gawk to your heart’s content, Cassandra, dear. No one can see you.”

Ellana leaned past Cullen to take in the view on his side of the carriage. “I didn’t get to see much of this place when I was here last. Hard to take in the sights when you’re scurrying through the gutters like a rat.”

Seth shook his head. “I still can’t believe you came all the way out here on your own.”

“You owe me one, brother dear.”

“Oh, I’d say we’re even,” he returned mildly, and the look he threw her brought a scarlet blush to her cheeks. As for Cullen, he observed the exchange with a bemused expression that suggested he was still in the dark about that whole pesky betrothal business. Which was probably for the best, at least for now.

“Loads of beggars around here,” Sera remarked. “More than last time.”

“You’re right,” Dorian said quietly. The difference was noticeable even to him. “More refugees, I expect. No doubt the Magisterium will be…” He stopped himself, shook his head. There would be plenty of time for that later. Right now, he was going to enjoy his homecoming.

Or not.

No sooner had the gates of his estate parted than he spied a familiar carriage in the drive, and he sighed. “Well, _this_ will be a treat.”

“Something the matter?” Cullen asked.

“Gird your loins, Commander. You’re about to meet my mother.”

* * *

Aquinea Pavus was furious.

Not that anyone would be able to tell. Anyone but her son, that is; Dorian was intimately familiar with every shade of his mother’s disapproval, silent outrage being her preferred accoutrement. To the others, she would merely appear aloof. After all, it wouldn’t do to make a _scene_.

“Mother,” Dorian said airily as he led the others out onto the gallery. “So nice of you to drop round to welcome me home.”

Aquinea rose from her seat with an icy smile. “Why, of course. It is only proper, my son. You’ve been gone an exceedingly long time, after all. An entire season, or so your colleagues in the Magisterium inform me.”

 _Oh, well played, Mother._ So many little barbs in a single volley. She’d managed to criticize his conduct as a son, a magister, and a member of polite society all in one go – with most of their audience being none the wiser. _I am in the presence of an artist_ , he thought sourly.

But he knew just how to knock her off her game. “I expect introductions are in order. You remember my betrothed, of course.”

A faint sigh from Seth, and a sidelong glance of rebuke. Presumably this was not _quite_ the way he’d envisaged breaking their happy news. But the Inquisitor was an artist in his own right, and he inclined his head smoothly, as though Dorian hadn’t just handed him a grenade with the pin pulled out. “A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

Aquinea had gone quite still, and for a glorious moment, Dorian thought perhaps she’d actually been struck dumb. Then she gathered her wits and said, “The pleasure is mine, Inquisitor.”

Dorian turned to Cassandra next. “This is…” he began, and he was just debating whether to tell his mother the truth when the decision was taken out of his hands.

A gasp sounded from the corridor, and the serving girl accompanying Austus with the drinks nearly dropped her tray. “Your Holiness!”

Dorian sighed. This, he supposed, was what you got for employing Fereldans.

Austus gave the girl a _look_ , but she was oblivious, the tray rattling in her hands as she started to shake. “My profound apologies, my lord,” Austus said, shepherding the girl away before she fainted.

Aquinea looked genuinely startled now, staring at Cassandra with a mix of surprise and alarm. “I… am not quite sure how to address you,” she admitted.

“My name is Cassandra Pentaghast,” the latter said firmly. “Any other titles or honorifics of the south should remain there.”

“That simplifies things,” Aquinea said, visibly relieved. “I am delighted to meet you, Lady Pentaghast.”

The remaining introductions were thankfully less shocking, and they were able to get down to business, arranging themselves in the lounging area while Austus returned with another, less excitable servant. A round of sherry was distributed, along with a warm bowl of lemon water, which Sera was about to sip until a gentle murmur from the seneschal advised her of its purpose. “But I should be happy to bring you ice-cold lemon water for drinking,” he added. “If that is your preference.”

“No, you’re all right. Wouldn’t say no to food, though. Got any of that crumbly sheep cheese?”

“Right away, my lady.” Austus bowed and withdrew.

Dorian’s mouth quirked, and Sera narrowed her eyes sharply. “Shut it, you.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“But you were thinking it,” she said, splashing lemon water everywhere with her grubby little fingers. “Just ‘cause I asked for cheese doesn’t make me Lady Highboots.”

“No,” Dorian agreed, “it certainly doesn’t.”

Seth cleared his throat politely. “I’m sure you and your mother would like to catch up,” he said. “We won’t keep you long, but if there is any new intelligence on Aerion Malkar, we would be most anxious to hear it.”

“Most anxious indeed,” Cassandra echoed with a steely expression.

Aquinea's dark eyes shifted to her son. “I did as you asked and reached out to my contacts regarding this Malkar. It seems this is not his first visit to Minrathous. Indeed, it would appear he was the one responsible for my kidnapping, among other things. But I expect you knew that already.”

“That and a good deal more,” Dorian said, and proceeded to fill her in on the main highlights of the past few weeks.

By the time he’d finished, his mother had gone quite pale. “ _All_ the lyrium?”

“Every ounce. Which in addition to bringing the Imperium to its knees, would eventually kill us all. So I trust you’ll understand why missing a few sessions of the Magisterium seemed a price worth paying.”

“Malkar has been plotting this for years,” Cassandra said. “Most of his plans were thwarted when we crushed his followers in the Deep Roads, but so long as he survives, the threat remains.”

“It goes deeper than that,” Seth said. “If our experience with fanatics over the years has taught us anything, it’s that their beliefs are like a weed. If you don’t tear up the roots, you’ll just have to face them again in a few years’ time. Killing Malkar may not be enough, just as destroying Lord Seeker Lucius wasn’t enough.”

“He’s right,” said Cullen. “If there’s a nest of Promisers here, we need to crush it.”

“And we must prevent him from spreading his toxic ideas any further,” Seth said.

Aquinea narrowed her eyes. “What do you suggest, Inquisitor?”

“We need to determine not only where Malkar is, but why he’s come back here. What allies does he hope to find?”

“I believe I have an answer for you,” Aquinea said, “but I fear you won’t like it. There is indeed a nest of Promisers here, though not a large one. They’ve continued recruiting ex-templars, and my friends and I were able to use that to lure one of them out of hiding. His cooperation was not difficult to secure.”

“Break a few fingers, did you?” Sera asked, without looking up from her plate of cheese.

“Dear me, no.” If Aquinea had been wearing pearls, she would have clutched them, if only for show. “We have no need of such barbaric methods.”

Seth stirred uncomfortably. He could easily imagine the “methods” a cabal of high-ranking Tevinter mages would employ, and Dorian couldn’t help wincing. _Welcome to the Imperium_ , amatus, he thought ruefully.

“It seems your friend Malkar has found potential allies in a small but determined group of Qunari. Not Tal-Vashoth, mind you, but devout followers of the Qun.”

Dorian sighed. “He mentioned something about that in the Deep Roads. There were Qunari among his followers as well. Rogues who reject the authority of the Triumvirate in favour of a more radical vision. Toppling the Imperium and the rest of Thedas has always been their goal. This hands them the perfect opportunity. Too extreme for the orthodoxy, perhaps, but not for them.”

“Wonderful,” Cullen muttered. “More fanatical than the fanatics.”

“Quite,” said Aquinea. “As though the Qunari threat wasn’t grave enough already.”

Dorian was suddenly rather glad Bull had decided to walk home.

“Our informant provided the details of a little soiree Malkar is planning to throw,” Aquinea went on. “Three nights from now, in a villa just up the coast. A demonstration for this rogue group of Qunari. If he impresses them, they’ll whisk him away to whatever hole they’re denned up in. Some fetid jungle on Seheron, no doubt, or one of the forgotten little islands off its shores.”

“And from there, they will plan another attack,” Cassandra said grimly. “This time, with Qunari reinforcements.”

“What do we know of this demonstration?” Seth asked.

“Only that it will involve a large number of slaves who are being kept on the property.”

“We’ve seen what Malkar does to slaves,” Ellana put in, glancing between her brother and Dorian worriedly. “If we just charge in there…”

“He’ll butcher them like sheep.” Seth sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Or worse. Anything to cover his escape.”

“It would be simple enough to crush him with brute force,” Aquinea said. “But that would certainly result in a massacre. If you would spare innocent lives, we will require a more… _discreet_ approach.”

“We?” Dorian flicked an eyebrow.

“Of course. I have a score of my own to settle with this filth, or have you forgotten?”

“You’re no battlemage, Mother.”

Aquinea fixed him with her iciest look, the one that still struck terror into the heart of the five year-old boy inside him. “We will discuss this in private, Dorian,” she said, and that was most definitely that.

“We should begin planning immediately,” Cassandra said. “Let us put an end to this once and for all.”

“Soon,” Seth said, and in a room full of authority, his quiet word still carried the day. “Bull should be here for that. And we need food and rest if we’re to be at our sharpest.”

Cassandra sighed. “You’re right, of course. I am impatient. We have come so far, and it is almost over.”

“It is,” Seth agreed. “Aerion Malkar will get what’s coming to him, and very soon. But in the meantime, we’ll need to prepare. Austus?” He had only to glance over his shoulder, and the seneschal was there.

“Inquisitor.”

“We’ll need the services of a blacksmith, an arcanist, a tailor, and…” Smiling, he pushed a hand through his sloppy silver locks once more. “A barber.”

The word was scarcely out of his mouth before Dorian was on his feet. “That last one,” he said, “I’ll see to personally.”


	37. Chapter 37

“Inquisitor.”

The voice came from behind him. Seth checked his stride, grateful there was no one nearby to witness the stricken look that flitted across his face. He’d hoped to slip away unnoticed, have a few quiet moments to himself in the gardens. But Aquinea obviously had other ideas, and now she had him cornered.

Mustering up his best diplomat’s smile, he turned around. “My lady.”

“Aquinea will do, thank you.” Tilting her head, she added, “Since apparently we are to be family now.”

He felt himself flushing. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sure Dorian didn’t mean to break the news quite so abruptly.”

“And I’m quite sure he did,” Aquinea returned dryly. “My son takes great delight in shocking people, as you are no doubt aware.”

There was an awkward silence. Seth gestured to the little garden table near the serenity pool. “Will you sit?”

Aquinea lowered herself gracefully into a woven chair, her dark gaze wandering over the lush foliage surrounding them. _She has Dorian’s eyes_ , Seth thought as he perched across from her. Or rather, he had hers. His cheekbones were hers, too, right down to the little mole. And that barely perceptible curl of the mouth that said, _I’m smarter than you and we both know it_. There was even something in the way they carried themselves, a predatory grace that was at once unsettling and irresistibly compelling. Aquinea achieved it in hawk-like stillness; Dorian in feline motion. He had a way of circling a person like a panther around a trapped doe – in Seth’s case, one _dying_ to be eaten. Halward had displayed none of that magnetism. Indeed, it was hard to imagine a more staid figure, and Seth caught himself wondering how that had played out at society gatherings. He could picture it so vividly: Halward in one corner, surrounded by dry old men; Aquinea in another, drawing every glittering thing in the room into her orbit. She would have had her pick of lovers, Seth reckoned. Perhaps she still did.

_Do they have any idea how alike they are, mother and son?_

He strongly suspected that pointing this out to either of them would get him zapped or frozen or both.

“You planted these gardens yourself, did you not?” Aquinea scanned the spreading branches above them. “They truly are lovely. Extravagant, and yet there is a restraint to them, an elegance, that I greatly admire. What does that say about the man who designed them, I wonder?” Her gaze fell to Seth, but he just smiled. A hunter knew a trap when he saw one.

“I won’t take much of your time,” she continued, smoothing her robes. “But I did wish to speak to you about the future.”

Seth’s insides coiled, but his smile never wavered. “Of course.”

“Contrary to what you may have been told, I love my son. And while I cannot pretend to approve of all his choices, I would see him happy, if that is possible.”

“Why shouldn’t it be possible?”

Aquinea smiled. “You are either very naïve or very careful. I rather suspect it is the latter, but just in case, let me spell it out for you. Men do not marry men in the Tevinter Imperium. For a man of Dorian’s rank to do so is beyond scandalous. It is quite simply outrageous.” She hitched a bare shoulder. “This will be of no concern to Dorian, of course. If anything, he’ll revel in being shocking. But what about you, Inquisitor? Will you revel in it?”

“No,” Seth answered simply. “But neither does it worry me.”

“You say that today, but what about a year from now? Five years from now? What happens when you grow tired of everyone around you speaking behind their hands?” Aquinea leaned forward and looked him right in the eye. “Let me speak plainly, Inquisitor.”

Creators preserve him, was this not speaking plainly?

“I have made my share of mistakes with Dorian. More than my share, perhaps. I told myself that everything I did was for his own good. And yet, if he had abided by my wishes, he would have spent his life as miserably as I have. And, I am forced to admit, as unremarkably. Instead, he has become someone extraordinary. Someone his father grew to be very proud of.”

Seth hesitated. It wasn’t his place, and yet he couldn’t help himself. “What about his mother?”

Aquinea flashed a tight smile. “His mother has always been proud. Not that he would believe it. In his eyes, Halward and I were always one and the same.” She glanced away, and for a moment she seemed lost in bitter regrets. Then she made an impatient gesture. “But that is neither here nor there. The point is that Dorian has made a place for himself in a world that has done its best to reject him. Time and again, he has faced his challenges with strength and resolve. Indeed, there is only one time I have ever seen him falter, and that is when you left him.”

“Ah.” Seth’s gaze fell, and he nodded. “I believe I see where this is going.”

“It is not my intention to chastise you. I’m sure you had your reasons. My concern is that you will find such reasons again. The life you propose to build here will not be easy. My _son_ will not be easy. Nor, I suspect, will you be. You are a great man, Inquisitor Lavellan. A figure of renown and influence all over the world. But if you remain here, that will change. The Imperium does not tolerate powerful foreigners in its midst. Your wings will be clipped, quickly and ruthlessly. Is that a price you’re willing to—?”

“Without hesitation.” Seth looked her right in the eye as he said it. “My flying days are done, my lady.”

Aquinea tipped her head to one side, eyes narrowed. “So simple, is it? In the south, you are a demigod, or so my son informs me. Can one renounce his divinity so easily?”

Seth smiled. “Your son has a penchant for hyperbole. I’ve never claimed divinity, and I have no interest in politics or power.”

“What _do_ you want?”

“Dorian.” Seth sat forward in his seat, still holding her gaze firmly. “I love your son, with everything I am. He is my partner and my soulmate and the best man I have ever known. Yes, I left him. And yes, I had my reasons. Our time apart…” He hesitated, unsure how to articulate it. Somehow, he didn’t think Aquinea would be moved by talk of the Long Walk. “It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever been through, but I believe it was necessary. I think we had to be reminded of what was at stake, so that when we’re tested again, we’re ready to face it together. We’ve seen what it looks like when we give up on our love.” He shook his head. “We won’t do it again.”

There was a long pause. Aquinea’s dark eyes searched his, and Seth didn’t stir, submitting himself wholly to that silent scrutiny. “I can see that you’re sincere,” she said at length. “Perhaps that is all one can ask.” Another pause. “I confess that you are not what I expected, Inquisitor.”

Seth sighed inwardly. If he had a copper for every time someone said that to him…

“If a man’s measure may be taken by the heart he wins, then my son deserves even more admiration.”

“I thank you. For the compliment, and for the gift you’ve brought into my life.” Smiling, he added, “You have raised a beautiful soul.”

Aquinea blinked rapidly and swept to her feet in a swish of silk. “I shan’t keep you any longer,” she said, her face carefully angled away from his. “Thank you for indulging a worried mother.” At a gesture, a servant appeared out of the shadows, opening the door to her carriage; Aquinea took a step toward it before glancing back over her shoulder. “Don’t break his heart again, Setheneras. I don’t think either of us could bear it.”

And with that, she mounted the step into her carriage and closed the door.

* * *

Dorian dismissed the enchantment on his study door with a certain degree of trepidation. He could well imagine the stack of letters that awaited him. His fellow magisters were prolific correspondents, apparently operating on the belief that one’s importance was in direct proportion to the amount of paperwork one generated for others. Dorian, on the other hand, took the opposite approach. The pen was mightier than the sword, and just as a great warrior refused to cross blades with an unworthy foe, so Magister Pavus reserved his quill for only a select few.

Even so, a tottering tower of envelopes and scrolls awaited him on his desk – along with a small wooden box about the size of an apple, hinged and sealed with an enchantment he didn’t recognize. Frowning, he twisted the ring on his finger, and a moment later, Austus appeared in the doorway. “My lord?”

“This box. Where did it come from?”

The seneschal blinked. “I am… uncertain, my lord. I did not put it there.”

“You’re the only one with a rune key to this study. Unless you handed it over to someone else?”

Austus went rigid. “Certainly not, my lord. I would never do such a thing.”

“No. You wouldn’t, would you?” Dorian turned back to the wooden box, arms folded. “So how did it get here?”

“Perhaps it would be wise to leave it be, my lord, until it can be properly examined. It might be some sort of trap.”

“It might be, and yet…” Narrowing his eyes, Dorian waved a hand above the box. A tingle, not unlike a buzz of static electricity, ran over his skin. “Tell me, Austus, can you feel that?”

The seneschal took a hesitant step toward the desk and waved his hand over the box as Dorian had done. “I feel nothing,” he said, relaxing visibly. “But I am no mage.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” Picking up a letter opener, Dorian pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the rune sealing the latch. The rune flared and vanished, and the latch _clicked_. “Fascinating,” Dorian murmured. “Keyed to my blood. I’ve heard of such enchantments, but I’ve never seen it.” A pity there wasn’t enough evidence left to study. A spell like that would earn a fellow a _lot_ of friends in the Magisterium. “That will be all, Austus, thank you.”

“My lord.” The seneschal closed the door behind him, leaving Dorian to open his mysterious package in peace.

He flipped the latch, opened the lid – and swore an oath, gazing in disbelief at the item resting on a little velvet cushion inside. Picking it up, he eyed the familiar inscription, slipped it onto his finger, and tugged on the Veil.

At which point he promptly vanished.

After all these years, the Ring of Doubt had found its way back to him. But how? Twisting the ring off, Dorian picked up the little velvet cushion, and sure enough, he found a note folded neatly underneath.

_Magister Pavus,_

_Thank you for obliging me with the temporary care of the Ring of Doubt. It has now served its purpose, and I return it to you. My people inform me that you may have need of it in the coming days. It is a worthy endeavour, and I wish you well._

_Regards,_

_S._

“I knew it!” Dorian hissed. “ _I bloody well knew it was you!_ ”

He whipped around as though he might find the hairless hobo standing behind him, but of course Solas wasn’t there. Not now, at any rate, but had he been? Had the Dread Wolf snuck into his library?

“Are you all right?” Seth poked his head through the door. “Who are you talking to?”

“Solas!”

His lover blinked. “Pardon?”

“The Ring of Doubt!” Dorian brandished it like an accusation. “I _told you_ he was the one who stole it! And now he’s given it back!”

“Oh. That’s…” Seth blinked again, apparently at a loss.

“To aid us in our efforts against Malkar, apparently.”

“How would he know about that?”

“I don’t know, but he does. It says so right here, in his smug little note.” Dorian prowled back and forth in front of his desk, scowling at the note as he read it over. “ _A worthy endeavour._ As though we set our course by _his_ moral compass. He can’t even admit that he stole it! Obliging him with its temporary care indeed.”

Seth had recovered from his shock by this point, and he seemed to find it all rather amusing. “Calm down, Dorian. Having the ring back is a good thing, isn’t it?”

“But Solas—

“Is out there, watching us. We knew that.”

“I don’t mind him _out there_. I mind him _in here_.”

The elf paled. “He was here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. For all we know, he’s here right now. Perhaps he gave the ring back because he’s worked out how to sustain a traceless invisibility spell. Either way…” Dorian glared at the empty shadows, on the off chance Solas _was_ there. “He’s a pretentious prat and a consummate lurker, not to mention a thief.”

“I’m not sure you can be both pretentious and a lurker.”

“Yes, yes, very clever. We’ll see how droll you find it all when he returns the pair of smallclothes he stole from you.”

“ _What?_ ” Seth sputtered, turning bright red.

“I wouldn’t put it past him, the creepy bastard.”

Seth shook his head. “Are you through? Because if there’s more of this little tantrum, I’m going to need a drink. I’m still recovering from your mother.”

“Come again?” Dorian turned, the hairless hobo instantly forgotten. “What about my mother?”

“Later. The barber is downstairs, and I imagine you have views.”

“Oh yes.”

Gesturing wryly at the door, Seth said, “After you, maestro.”

“In a moment. First, we ought to make a toast of farewell.” He headed to the sideboard where he kept his decanter of _manise_.

“Farewell to… my hair?” Seth arched a confused eyebrow.

“Of course. We can’t have you looking like a savage, but there is something undeniably sexy about those long locks of yours. Part of me will be sorry to see them go.” He poured two drams and handed one to Seth, watching as the elf sniffed curiously at it.

“Is this _manise_?”

“It is,” Dorian said smugly.

Seth took a sip – and shook his head. “No,” he said.

“No? Are you sure?” Dorian leaned in and kissed him, drawing Seth’s body against his. “Tastes like _manise_ to me,” he murmured.

“Hmm.” Seth’s tongue darted into his mouth. “Close, anyway.”

“Well, then, let’s make it closer, shall we?” Dorian deepened the kiss, setting his glass aside so he could twine his fingers in the elf’s soon-to-be-shorn silver locks.

Then he took a generous handful of arse.

Just in case Solas was still there.


	38. Chapter 38

“Are you absolutely certain?” Dorian asked, fidgeting anxiously with the ring on his finger. “You feel nothing at all?” It was hard to accept. He himself felt a great deal: the unnatural warmth of the metal, the subtle pressure of the enchantment buffeting him like a blustery breeze. How could a magical signature like that be untraceable?

Cassandra scowled, her dark eyes looking right through him to the trees beyond. “You have asked me this half a dozen times over the years. Why would you expect my answer to change? I sense nothing. If the ring causes any vibration in the Veil, it is too slight for my abilities to detect it.”

“You’ll forgive me for an abundance of caution. Our entire plan hinges on you being right about this. If Malkar or any of his templars sense me…”

“They will not,” Cassandra said firmly.

Dorian loosened the ring, reappearing before the others. It was, he had to admit, immensely reassuring to have the familiar warmth of the Ring of Doubt around his finger once more. So much so that he was prepared to overlook the irritating fact that he had _Solas_ , of all people, to thank for it.

“I don’t feel anything either,” Aquinea put in. “There is a gentle tug on the Veil when you first put it on, but that’s all.” Lady Pavus was resplendent in her brand new battlemage armour, a glittering ensemble of bloodstone and silver silk so painfully chic it would have made Madame de Fer sick with envy. High-necked, form-fitting and trimmed with garnets, it looked more like evening wear than battle gear. Not that Dorian was surprised. He certainly hadn’t got his fashion sense from Halward.

The others looked impressive too, kitted out as finely as in their old Inquisition days. Cullen had a shiny new set of everite armour, as did Cassandra. Bull wore a bright red vitaar that made it look as though his eyes were bleeding, which while singularly unattractive was also bloody _terrifying_. Seth’s dragon scale leathers gleamed once more, and he had a new helm to go along with them – though it would be a shame to cover up that perfect hair. A few weeks of sun and a proper diet had restored the elf almost completely to his former self, and he was such a specimen standing there, all beautiful and proud and _heroic_ , that Dorian wanted to grab him by the buckles and pin him up against one of those trees. But he didn’t, because his mother was looking.

They were ready. All they needed now was for Sera and Ellana to return from their latest scouting mission – the third they’d mounted in as many days. Malkar’s demonstration for his would-be allies was scheduled to take place less than an hour from now. Thanks to yesterday’s reconnaissance, they already had a good idea of what they’d be facing, but Seth wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He’d ordered his sister and Sera to take one last look; they were due back any moment.

“If you want to be absolutely certain about the ring…” Cullen scraped at the dirt with his boot, avoiding everyone’s eye. “There’s no reason to suppose templars sense things differently from Seekers, but just in case, I could—”

“We’ve discussed this,” Seth interrupted with a shake of his head. “You’ve been free of lyrium for eight years, Cullen. I won’t have you put that at risk now. It’s not a corner worth cutting.”

“Isn’t it? Suppose Ellana and Sera return with news that the mage they saw yesterday is just the tip of the spear. One corrupted mage is bad enough. We have no idea what she might be capable of.”

“That’s not _entirely_ true,” Dorian said. “We have seen a mage corrupted with red lyrium before.”

Seth scowled. “Corypheus was a darkspawn magister. There’s no reason to assume this mage of Malkar’s wields anything like that kind of power.”

“We shouldn’t _assume_ anything at all,” Dorian returned gently. “The fact is, we simply don’t know.”

“Are you suggesting Cullen should take lyrium? After everything he went through to—”

“Of course not.” Glancing at Cullen, Dorian added, “If for no other reason than Malkar could use it against you. Don’t forget, Commander, that he can set the lyrium in your blood on fire.”

“True, though if he doesn’t know I’m taking it…”

“Too risky,” Seth said. “Look, I don’t deny it would be useful to have a templar on our side…”

Bull growled low in his throat. It was still a sore point with him. He’d scoured every mercenary haunt in Minrathous looking for an ex-templar to hire, but to no avail. “If I’d had one more day…”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll make do, just like always. I certainly won’t have Cullen sacrificing his health. End of discussion.”

Cullen’s mouth quirked into a not-quite smile. “You know, you’re not the Inquisitor anymore. I could just tell you to stuff it.”

“You could,” Seth said mildly. “But you won’t.”

Just then, Maggie pricked up her ears and growled, and a moment later Sera appeared out of the shadows, Ellana in tow. “Will you lot shut it? We can hear you arguing like a bunch of old ladies halfway down the hill.” Glancing at Aquinea, she added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with old ladies. ‘Specially when they look like you, right?”

_Sweet Andraste, is she mad?_

Dorian decided to intervene before the lunatic got herself set on fire. “What did you find out?” he asked, a little too loudly.

“Everything looks more or less the same as it did yesterday,” Ellana said. “Two guards posted at the gate and another two at the front door, plus three more walking a perimeter around the garden. From the looks of it, that’s where the demonstration will be. There’s a big courtyard there, and the servants are setting up seating around it.”

“Any sign of his guests?” Seth asked.

Ellana shook her head. “But there’s a boat tied up at the pier that wasn’t there before. It’s probably them.”

“And the mage?” Dorian asked.

“Didn’t see her,” said Sera. “Or Malkar, or his corrupted Qunari. Probably inside throwing a nice little party. Or at least as nice as you can make a dump like that. Place is falling to bits, innit?”

Most of the villas along the northern coast were, abandoned years ago by nervous nobles who no longer fancied their summer homes being within staging distance of Seheron. That was all to the good, since it meant the original enchantments protecting the property would have long since decayed.

“What about the prisoners?” Seth asked.

“Same as yesterday, only more guards. Oh, and one other thing.” Sera frowned. “There’s something weird in the carriage house.”

Seth narrowed his eyes. “Could you be more specific?”

“Not really. We heard… sounds. Weird sounds. Not horsey sounds, you know?”

“Like something was scratching at the door,” Ellana said, and the grim look on her face made Dorian very nervous indeed. “Something big.”

“Wonderful,” Dorian muttered. “Brought one of his Deep Roads pets, has he? What do we think? Wolf? Giant spider? Extremely cranky fennec?”

“We’ll just have to be prepared for anything,” Seth said. “And on that note… We’d better get into position. It’ll be dark soon.”

While the others gathered up their gear, Dorian took his betrothed aside. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you how I feel about this plan.”

The elf sighed. “It’s _your_ plan.”

“The invisibility part is my plan. The using yourself as bait part, not so much. You will note, however, that I haven’t complained about it once. Not a word.”

Seth made a wry face. “Thank you, Dorian. Perhaps we ought to throw you a parade.”

“Splendid idea. We’ll need a special palanquin for the occasion. I’m picturing a life-sized dragon carried by a legion of strapping young men – bare-chested, of course – with a saddle shaped like a throne. I’ll wave and toss grapes to the masses. But first, we’ll have to survive. Especially you. You can manage that, yes?”

“I promise,” Seth said, pulling him into a quick kiss. “Now come on. It’s time to finish this.”

* * *

Dorian had never been anyone’s idea of _stealthy_. On the contrary, his speciality was being noticed, and sneaking his way past a pair of Promiser guards – magic ring or no – was not going to be easy. But there was no help for it. The plan called for him to get into position before the others started taking out guards, and that meant he’d have to slip through the gate undetected. Fortunately, the thing was so rusted that it didn’t shut properly, and the clumsy wards set by Malkar’s mage were easily avoided. It ought to be manageable – just.

He approached slowly, rolling along the pads of his feet the way Seth had showed him. The guards were alert and expecting trouble, but the Ring of Doubt did its job, and he walked right between them without drawing so much as a glance. Now for the hard part. The gate stood slightly ajar, but the slightest nudge would probably cause those rusted hinges to shriek. Licking his lips, Dorian drew himself up as straight as possible and…

A twig broke somewhere off in the bushes. The guards’ heads swivelled in the direction of the sound, and one of them drew his sword.

Either the Iron Bull had got his horns tangled in the shrubbery again, or Seth had done it on purpose. Either way, Dorian took full advantage of the distraction, slipping through the gate with only the tiniest creak. Then he crept up the drive and around the side of the villa, working his way down to the garden.

Torchlight flickered through the hedges surrounding the courtyard. From the sounds of things, the demonstration had already begun: Aerion Malkar’s voice drifted on the breeze, and as Dorian rounded the hedgerow, he found the Redeemer prowling the cobblestones like a magister on the floor of the Imperial Senate, holding forth before an audience of half a dozen Qunari. His mage was there too, standing proudly to one side. Tevinter, from the look of her, probably former Venatori. Beside her stood Malkar’s other remaining Anointed, a Qunari that looked like a corrupted bronto on hind legs.

“What you witness tonight will erase any doubt in your minds, my friends,” Malkar purred, oozing charisma from every corrupted pore. “Red lyrium is the greatest gift that was ever bestowed on mankind. Not only does it strengthen the body and focus the mind, it is a natural sorting mechanism. A way of separating the strong from the weak, the worthy from the unworthy.” The corrupted Qunari stepped to his side, and Malkar rested a hand on his massive shoulder. “Those who are Anointed rise above their brethren to assume their rightful place as shepherds of the flock. You have spoken with this one. You know he is a true follower of the Qun. Now witness what he is capable of.”

At a gesture from Malkar, a nervous-looking guard approached a cage draped in cloth. Dorian hadn’t noticed it until now, but as soon as the guard drew near, something inside _growled_ , and a moment later the cloth was whisked away to reveal some sort of corrupted cat. A lion, perhaps, or a panther, with a fringe of red lyrium shards down its breast and along its spine. Claws the size of daggers scraped the cold iron as it paced up and down the cage, red eyes fixed hungrily on the guard. The poor bastard was white with fear, but he did his job, throwing open the cage door and flattening himself against the bars as the panther sprang free with a snarl.

The Qunari on the benches looked alarmed, but they needn’t have worried; no sooner had the corrupted cat hit the cobblestones than the mage cast a static cage around the perimeter, trapping the panther and her fellow Anointed inside. The corrupted Qunari roared a battle cry and swung an axe down from his back, and the demonstration began.

 _A gladiatorial contest? Really?_ Dorian was disappointed in Malkar. It was crude and stupid and… the Qunari were eating it up.

Of course they were.

The ridiculous ox-men were on their feet in an instant, roaring encouragement in Qunlat as their corrupted countryman circled the lyrium panther warily. The creature pounced, sinking its fangs into the Anointed’s shoulder and raking its claws down his chest. But somehow the Qunari kept his feet, and he grabbed the cat by its lyrium fringe and tore it free, hurling it into the crackling wall of the static cage. The lightning should have paralyzed the panther, but it just shook itself and started circling again.

“This is only the beginning, my friends,” Malkar said, resuming his pacing. “A bit of spectacle to whet your appetites. But I invite you to consider what your warriors might accomplish with such power. What your _saarebas_ could accomplish – under the watchful care of your _arvaarad_ , of course. And then there are the beasts. What might Dragon’s Breath have looked like if your _ataashi_ had known the power of red lyrium, as Corypheus’s dragon did?”

Some of the Qunari were watching him closely now, more interested in his little speech than the frenzied battle taking place a few feet away. Not a good sign.

 _Any time now, Seth_ , Dorian thought, twisting the ring on his finger anxiously.

“Nor is that the limit of what I can offer you,” Malkar went on. “I was once a Seeker of Truth. I learned to disrupt magic without the aid of lyrium. Given enough time, I can teach your warriors to do the same. How useful might you find that in your war with this decadent empire of out-of-control mages?” He swept his arm vaguely at their surroundings.

“And what of this cure you spoke of?” one of the Qunari asked. “It does little good to corrupt the world if it cannot be cleansed.”

“I’m glad you asked. You will see when I infect these…” Malkar gestured at a massive cage lining the wall of the villa, where twenty or so prisoners of various races cowered. “How far my research has advanced. As for the cure, I believe I am on the cusp of a breakthrough. The key, I am all but certain, lies in the blood of a high…” Malkar’s eyes narrowed suddenly, his gaze going somewhere over Dorian’s shoulder.

Dorian turned, and his stomach clenched as he saw a trio of guards approaching, dragging Seth and Cassandra along with them.

“We found these two prowling around outside the gates,” one the guards said, giving Seth a rough shove. The elf stumbled to one knee as Cassandra writhed in her captor’s grasp.

“Did you now?” Glancing at his mage, Malkar said, “Pella, my dear, would you kindly separate our combatants for a moment?” The mage obeyed, dropping a smaller static cage on top of the panther, leaving it to pace restlessly. “Apologies, my friends,” Malkar said to his Qunari guests. “We’ll return to our programme in a moment, but it seems we have guests. You all know Inquisitor Lavellan, of course. And this is Cassandra Pentaghast, the pretender who dares to call herself Divine Victoria.”

Seth was back on his feet now, and he addressed himself to the Qunari delegation. “You would be fools to listen to the ravings of this madman. He’ll infect the entire world with a fatal disease he has no idea how to cure. That doesn’t matter to him, because he’s immune. But most of you won’t be. You’ll die horribly. He doesn’t care about that, either, so long as he gets what he wants from you first. He’s using you, because he’s afraid.”

“Afraid? Of you?” Malkar smiled. “My dear Inquisitor, you were lucky in the Deep Roads. You and your friends dealt me a setback, I’ll not deny. But as I told you then, I’m in no hurry.” He turned, his gaze scouring the shadows. “I am also no fool. You would not have come without your pet Tevinter. He is here somewhere.”

 _This is it_ , Dorian thought. _The moment of truth._

“Tell me, Inquisitor, did you really think I would not sense him? Have you forgotten what I’m capable of?”

Blue eyes met Dorian’s across the torchlit courtyard.

“Greetings, Magister Pavus,” the Redeemer crooned, and someone grabbed Dorian from behind.


	39. Chapter 39

The dispel was gentle this time – if having one’s connection to the Fade abruptly severed could ever be described as such. Dorian wasn’t sent flying back into the hedgerows, at least, and if he felt the urge to vomit, it was only because he was a trifle _nervous_. The look of smug triumph on Aerion Malkar’s face was enough to make anyone question their life choices. Certainly, Dorian was questioning his – starting with the part where he decided _he_ ought to come up with the plan. Now here he was, surrounded by Promisers and hostile Qunari, being held at knifepoint by someone whose breath would stop a charging bronto dead in its tracks. In short, the circumstances were something less than ideal.

“I confess I’m surprised, Magister Pavus,” the Redeemer said. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the skulking type.”

Dorian pasted on his customary smirk, shrugging a shoulder with convincing indifference. “It’s true, I don’t generally favour invisibility spells. Hiding this lovely face is a sin against the Maker, wouldn’t you agree?”

Malkar smiled. “If you think to goad me with your blasphemy, you needn’t bother. I won’t fall for the same trick twice.”

“Are you quite certain? I can be _fabulously_ annoying.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” the Redeemer said dryly. “But you are also cunning, and therefore not to be underestimated. You outplayed me last time, I readily admit. And it seems you even found a way to purge the red lyrium from your lover’s system.” He cast an appraising glance over Seth before turning to his Qunari friends. “Which proves it can be done. I stabbed the Inquisitor with a red lyrium blade not one month gone. He should be dead, or at least transformed, and yet here he stands, in perfect health. This mage”—he pointed at Dorian—“obviously knows the cure, and I will extract it from him. Everything is unfolding exactly as I promised, my friends, and it will continue to do so.”

His guests weren’t so sure. Several of the Qunari were eying Seth as though he might leap at them at any moment and start opening throats. Which fear, frankly, wasn’t entirely unreasonable. “You told us the Inquisitor was dead,” one of them rumbled.

“And so he should have been. That he stands here now is proof that the cure lies within our grasp. Indeed, we ought to thank him. I could not have asked for more convincing evidence that my theory is sound. And now that he has served this happy purpose, he is of no further use to us, except perhaps…” Malkar turned back to Seth and smiled. “As entertainment. Pella, my sister, would you kindly refresh the arena? I believe we have a new challenger for our Anointed beast.”

Dorian drew a sharp breath, his eyes meeting Seth’s across the courtyard. The elf nodded once, as if to say, _It will be all right._

Which was obviously _bollocks._

Nimble though he might be, there was no way Seth could fight properly within the confines of a static cage. He wouldn’t last five seconds against that thing.

The corrupted mage grinned and waved a hand, dispelling the larger static cage. Her fellow Anointed looked considerably less pleased, slinking away with a scowl while the lyrium panther continued prowling the perimeter of the smaller cage.

“Stop this,” Cassandra said, twisting in her captor’s grasp. “ _I_ will fight your monster, Malkar.”

“Oh no, Your Perfection, I wouldn’t dream of it. I have something much more appropriate in mind for you.” Turning back to his guests, he said, “The presence of the false Divine offers an opportunity of its own – to demonstrate the power of red lyrium in a mage. As you may know, this pretender was once a fellow Seeker, trained to purge spells as I was. But you will see how far that gets her against one who has been Anointed. Pella…”

“With pleasure, my lord Redeemer,” said the mage, swinging her staff down from her back.

“Cut them loose,” Malkar instructed his lackeys, “and give the elf his weapons. Do behave yourself now, Inquisitor, or I’ll be forced to register my displeasure with my local magister.”

At this, the mouth-breather holding Dorian tightened his grip, the flat of his blade pressing painfully against Dorian’s jaw.

 _It’s too much_ , Dorian thought, meeting Seth’s glance once more. _This isn’t going to work._ They were almost out of time, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He could distract Malkar, let Seth get away…

The elf shook his head almost imperceptibly, and the message in his eyes was clear. _Trust me._

Later, it would seem to Dorian that their entire relationship could be distilled into that moment. Dorian, terrified for his _amatus_ , willing to sacrifice everything to save him. Seth, asking his _vhen’an_ to have faith, to put his fears aside and trust in the plans they’d made together. Dorian’s pulse pounded in his ears, his every instinct screaming at him to do something, _anything_ , to give Seth a chance to escape.

But a promise was a promise. Dorian closed his eyes briefly in acquiescence. Then he prayed to Andraste that he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.

“Pella,” said the Redeemer. “The cage, if you please.”

The Anointed mage raised her arm and called up a crackling ball of lightning. But before the cage could fully form, Seth vaulted backward, flipping hand over feet until he was well clear of the lashing ring.

The mage snarled in anger. It would be several minutes before she could cast that spell again.

Malkar, for his part, merely sighed. “What a waste of energy, Inquisitor,” he said in the tone of a disappointed father. “And now you’ve forced me to harm your lover.”

“You can try,” Seth said.

The Redeemer signalled to the mouth-breather holding Dorian – only to find that the man had been frozen solid. His prisoner, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

Malkar scowled, his composure slipping at last. “You waste my time with these pointless parlour tricks. You know I can sense your spell, Pavus.”

“Yes, but you can’t dispel it again just yet,” Dorian called from the hedgerows. “Which means I still have a few moments of glorious freedom.”

The Redeemer rolled his eyes. “You’re surrounded by ex-templars, you fool.” At a gesture, he sent one of them in the direction of Dorian’s voice. He couldn’t see Dorian, thanks to the invisibility spell, but he didn’t need to; an unmistakable quiver in the Veil marked his location clearly enough. Smirking, the Promiser started toward the vibration – which promptly receded as the mage causing it fled around the side of the villa. Malkar _tsk_ ed. “And so he runs. What a useless charade.”

Dorian couldn’t help smiling as he prowled the shadows directly behind the Redeemer, the familiar warmth of the Ring of Doubt pulsing against his finger. _Not a charade, my credulous friend. A show. And you just fell for it._

So much for not underestimating his enemy. Honestly, did he really think Dorian would be stupid enough to use an ordinary invisibility spell in the presence of an ex-Seeker? Unless of course he _wanted_ to be found, just as Seth and Cassandra had wanted to be found. To bait a hook, as it were, which was being reeled in at that very moment.

Because the mage making that quiver in the Veil wasn’t Dorian at all, but Aquinea. While her son lurked in the shadows with his undetectable magic ring, she led the Promiser guard on a merry chase, luring the man to his death someplace quiet. Dorian wondered whether it would be Ellana drawing her blade across his throat, or Sera burying an arrow in his eye. Perhaps Aquinea would even do the honours herself, freezing the man solid the way she’d done with her son’s captor. Either way, he wouldn’t last long, whereupon Aquinea would circle back and catch herself another fish. One by one, the Promiser guards would be separated from the herd and brought down silently, secretly, until all that was left was Malkar and his two Anointed.

And the Qunari.

And a lyrium panther – whose static cage had just decayed.

The creature crouched, tail lashing as it scanned its potential prey. Seth was by far the most tempting, slight as he was, but Malkar wasn’t taking any chances; at a gesture, he had his mage throw an ice wall between the panther and his Qunari guests. That settled the question, and the creature sprang at Seth with a snarl. But the elf was ready, diving aside and rolling to his feet, daggers in hand.

It made for a highly distracting spectacle, and for a moment even Malkar was absorbed. Cassandra took full advantage, charging the Redeemer and tackling him to the ground. Her sword lay on the flagstones a few inches away, and she snatched it up, but before she could strike, the Anointed mage was casting, slowing her movements with a blast of icy wind. Malkar lurched to his feet and moved aside, leaving his Anointed to double-team Cassandra. The Qunari struck first, rushing at her flank; Cassandra barely managed to grab her shield in time to block a powerful swing of his axe. He staggered from the force of his own blow, and before he could recover, his side was slashed open courtesy of Seth, who flew past in a dragon-scale blur with the lyrium panther in hot pursuit. Dorian watched in mild astonishment as his _amatus_ ran up the wall, vaulted backward, and landed behind the creature, burying a dagger in its flank.

After that, things got just plain _messy_.

The Anointed mage sent a beam of red lyrium energy ripping through the cobblestones toward Cassandra – only to see it blocked by a wall of spirit energy. She whirled toward the source of the spell and was considerably surprised to find Dorian hitting her with a dispel, stripping her barrier to almost nothing. Which was terribly inconvenient, because just then a very angry kitty flew at her, seeking revenge against anything that moved. It tackled her to the ground, forcing Malkar to draw his blade against his own pet in order to save his mage. Meanwhile, the Qunari grappled with Cassandra while Seth peppered him with throwing knives from the shadows, leaving him bleeding from a dozen places at once.

By this point, every guard left on the premises was converging on the courtyard. Most of them didn’t get far. Arrows sailed down from the terrace, and from the roof of a gazebo in the corner. Those who weren’t brought down by Sera or Ellana found themselves rather extravagantly on fire, courtesy of Aquinea – who, it turned out, slung her spells with even more panache than her son, though Dorian would have to remind her of the importance of casting a barrier before she engaged. As it was, Seth was obliged to throw himself in front of her to block the arrow aimed at her heart, grunting as it caught him in the shoulder. His sister didn’t take kindly to that, loosing a shaft of her own from the gazebo that sent the enemy archer toppling over the top of the wall with a cry. Seth, meanwhile, snapped the shaft of the arrow buried in his shoulder and charged back into the fray.

On and on it went, swords and axes, daggers and claws, missiles and magic and mayhem. Dorian lit Malkar up with electricity while Cassandra dispelled the mage. Then she crossed blades with Malkar while Dorian and the mage dispelled each other. Seth fought the panther and the Qunari and then the panther again – when he wasn’t too busy protecting his future mother-in-law. And all the while, the Qunari delegation just sat there with slightly bewildered expressions, presumably wondering whether this was all meant to be part of the show.

“ _Enough!_ ” Malkar roared, shoving Cassandra back with his shield. “ _Kill the prisoners!_ ”

“What prisoners?” rumbled a deep voice, and the Iron Bull stepped into the torchlight. He pointed with his maul to an empty cage surrounded by dead Promiser guards. “Those prisoners? Oh, they went home. We told them the party was over.”

“They send their regards,” Cullen added, wiping his blade on a dead Promiser.

“Tal-Vashoth!” one of the Qunari hissed.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Bull said, approaching with his maul slung over his shoulder. “I’m Tal-Vashoth. Wouldn’t be too self-righteous about it if I were you, though. Not if you’re allying with the kind of asshole who'd murder twenty slaves just because he’s having a temper tantrum.” He added something in Qunlat and then spat emphatically on the ground. Dorian recognized the word for _honour_ , but nothing else.

“Aerion Malkar’s words are empty,” Cassandra put in, holding her blade warily as the Qunari Anointed circled her. “His so-called vision is nothing but a façade. A mask he wears to justify his actions. What he wants is power, nothing more. It is as the Inquisitor said: he is using you.”

“We have no quarrel with you,” Seth said, stepping over the dead lyrium panther. “Leave now. If we are fated to cross blades in the future, so be it, but this is not your fight.”

The Qunari glanced at one another. Then, one by one, they stood and walked away, filing past Aerion Malkar without so much as a glance.

“You know your plan is truly rubbish when even rogue Qunari can’t get behind it,” Dorian remarked idly.

The corrupted Seeker’s shoulders heaved in fury. “This will not stand,” he growled. “ _This will not stand!_ ” And before anyone could react, he charged Cassandra with a wild cry.

His Anointed went back on the attack. The Qunari rushed at Seth, but Bull was there, swinging his maul in a humming arc that connected with his countryman’s head, sending the Anointed staggering. How the blow didn’t crush his skull, Dorian couldn’t imagine, but the damn thing kept his feet, flaring his red lyrium fins until his whole body pulsed with a furious red glow. Cullen charged from his flank, but was forced to hunker behind his shield as shards of red lyrium shot out of the Anointed in all directions, ringing off stone and shredding the shrubbery.

Dorian would have quite liked to help them, but he had his own problems. The mage sent a crackling arc of energy toward him, and he barely had time to refresh his barrier before it struck, sending a highly unpleasant shudder through his body. But this was no lightning strike; whatever she was doing, she could sustain it, and it lashed against Dorian’s barrier, sucking the energy out of it like water through a straw. Ellana and Sera loosed a volley of arrows at her, but they bounced away harmlessly, and she only intensified the blast. Dorian reeled beneath the onslaught. He could feel his mana leeching away even as his barrier decayed. He Fade-stepped away, but his enemy was ready for that; no sooner had he rematerialized than she sent a blast of red lyrium energy straight for him.

A wall of ice erupted from the ground in front of Dorian, taking the brunt of the lyrium blast. And then his mother was at his side, readying another spell even as she slipped her son a vial of lyrium. Dorian dared a glance at Malkar and found him quite thoroughly distracted, fighting off both Seth and Cassandra. He decided to risk it, downing the lyrium and sighing in relief as power flooded his veins once more.

Flames sprang up beneath the ice wall, melting it in an instant. The Anointed mage sneered at them and sent another arc of energy sizzling toward them; Dorian refreshed their barriers just in time to avoid being roasted by lightning. Then she hit them with another draining spell, different from her last volley but equally devastating. Already, Dorian could feel himself weakening.

“She’s too powerful,” Aquinea said between gritted teeth. “We can’t keep this up!”

Not for long, but Dorian had an idea. “Freeze her!”

“What good will that—”

“Trust me!”

Aquinea did as he asked, compressing the ambient air around the Anointed mage until she couldn’t move. “That won’t hold her for long…”

“It doesn’t need to,” Dorian growled, raising a withering wave of spirit energy beneath the mage’s feet. She cried out in pain, struggling ineffectually against the hard shell of ice that still imprisoned her. Then he whispered an incantation in Tevene, tracing a mark in the air with his fingers.

His mother’s eyes widened as she recognized the spell. Then she ducked and covered her head, which was quite sensible, because a moment later, the Anointed mage exploded with a shock wave sufficient to send everyone on the field flying.

For a moment, Dorian just lay on his back, blinking at the night sky. “Might have overdone that one,” he admitted, sticking a finger in his ringing ear.

Aquinea blew out a breath. “I had no idea you had mastered Walking Bomb. I am impressed, Dorian.”

Well, well. A red letter day indeed. Dorian resolved to record the date in his calendar when he got home.

“A lovely spell,” he said, helping his mother to her feet. “Terribly finicky. But triggering it on a frozen target – that’s a whole other level of destruction.” He glanced around and clucked his tongue in distaste. “Tiny, frozen bits of mage everywhere. Such a mess. Sorry about that.”

On the far side of the courtyard, Seth was first to regain his feet, and he pounced on Malkar, kneeling on his chest and pressing a dagger to his throat. “It’s over,” he said coldly. “Your mage is dead, and your Qunari…” He glanced at the prone figure lying unmoving on the cobblestones. “If he’s alive, he’s barely holding on.”

Malkar sneered at him through bloodied teeth. “Even if you kill me, you haven’t won. An idea cannot die at the point of a blade.”

“We’ll see,” Seth said.

The others had gathered around now, Dorian and Aquinea, Sera and Ellana, Bull and Cullen and Cassandra. “Finish it,” Cassandra said, her eyes hard as steel.

But Seth shook his head. “This isn’t a battle anymore, Your Holiness. This is a judgement.” He rose and stepped back, and Cassandra nodded once.

“Aerion Malkar, in the name of Andraste and all the peoples of Thedas, I, Divine Victoria, sentence you to die.”

“You don’t frighten me,” Malkar breathed. “You cannot—”

The blade sang, heavy and wet, and his head rolled raggedly across the flagstones.


	40. Chapter 40

“Can we please close the window?” Dorian asked, shuddering. “It’s freezing, and I’d rather have a steady hand for this.”

Seth gave him a bemused look. The elf sat on the desk in Dorian’s study, waiting patiently while his lover blundered his way through dressing the various wounds he’d acquired yesterday. “This would be summer weather at Skyhold,” he pointed out.

“In other words, _freezing_. Which in addition to being uncomfortable is extremely distracting.”

“Distracting? I’m the one sitting here half naked.”

“Exactly. Your nipples are hard as little rocks, and you’re covered in the most delicious goosebumps…” He couldn’t resist sliding his hands over this bounty, delighting in the shiver that ran over the elf’s skin at his touch. If there was anything more enticing than a well-formed chest, Dorian couldn’t name it. Even the contours of Seth’s various scars were little wonderlands begging to be explored. Bull had always insisted that war wounds were “hot,” and perhaps he was onto something after all.

“That _is_ distracting,” Seth murmured, tilting his head back as Dorian’s lips brushed his throat.

“I could make it more distracting.” His hand crept along the inside of Seth’s thigh, and he was pleased to discover that the elf’s nipples weren’t the only thing that was hard. “Already? You randy little thing.”

“You bring it out in me.” Seth twined his fingers in Dorian’s hair, pulling him into a greedy kiss.

Dorian drew the elf’s hips flush against him, and a warm hand slipped down the back of his breeches. Things were looking very promising indeed until Seth hissed in pain, and Dorian remembered the arrow wound he was supposed to be bandaging. Not to mention the claw marks raking Seth’s ribs, and the rope burns on his wrist, and the dark bruises mottling his left arm where the artificial limb attached…

Dorian sighed. “ _Amatus._ You are a mess. Again.”

“The price of saving the world. Again.”

“Let’s try to take some time off from that sort of thing, yes?” Dorian resumed bandaging. “Or better yet, hang it up for good. Find a new line of work.”

“Spy?” Seth asked dryly. “Or assassin?”

“I’m thinking scholar. Or landscaper. Or the world’s most fetching acrobat. Since when do you run up walls, by the way?”

“I was very bored at the villa,” the elf said gravely.

“So you learned to do backflips. With an artificial hand. Why not?”

“I also got very good at springing between rooftops and balconies.”

“Well, there will be none of that here, Inquisitor. If you want to keep sharp, we’ll find you a Qunari to wrestle or something.”

Seth winced and looked down at the bandage Dorian was looping around his shoulder. “I don’t think it needs to be quite that tight.”

“This really isn’t my forte.”

“You don’t say.”

“Perhaps you ought to consider that next time you’re thinking of using yourself as a living shield. Which, honestly…” He glanced up, giving his lover a wry look. “Bit over the top, don’t you think? Throwing yourself heroically in front of your future mother-in-law? If you’d wanted to get into her good graces, you would have done just as well with an edible arrangement. Something with pomegranates, or perhaps blood orange.”

“I think it’s going to take more than fancy fruit to get into your mother’s good graces. I did break her son’s heart, or so she informs me.”

Dorian paused. “She said that?”

“Among other things.”

He scowled. “As though she gives fig about my heart.”

“She does, _vhen’an._ ” Seth laid a hand against his cheek. “I know it’s complicated, and it’s not my place to interfere. Maybe things can be mended and maybe they can’t. But I will say this: when and if you’re ready to try, I think you’ll find she’s ready too.”

A confused brew of emotions bubbled up in Dorian’s chest. Resentment, frustration, guilt, and a vexing little twinge that might have been _hope_. The overall effect was perfectly exasperating. “I’ll say this for her, she certainly ruins the mood.”

Seth snorted softly and hopped down from the desk. That got Maggie’s attention; her head shot up, tail thumping hopefully. The wolf lay slumped in the corner, dozing and perhaps doing a bit of sulking after being left behind yesterday. Stout-hearted warrior though she was, Maggie was not an ideal companion for sneaking. But this was not the sort of thing one could explain to a beast, so she’d spent the morning slinking about glumly as though she’d been punished for something. “Ready for a walk, are you?” Seth asked. The wolf answered with another swish of her tail, and Seth sighed. “What are we going to do with her, Dorian? She’s meant for the wilds. She needs more than just our little garden.”

 _She’s not the only one_ , Dorian thought.

Aloud, he said, “I’ve been thinking about that. There was a fire last year in one of the more neglected quarters of the city, and the whole area is a shambles. They’re going to raze it to the ground, and there’s a proposal before the Magisterium to sell it off to a consortium of wealthy merchants. But I think it’s high time this city had some proper public gardens, don’t you? Perhaps we might even find a talented landscaper to take on the project. Someone with experience turning an island of stone into an oasis of beauty.”

The smile that lit up the elf’s face was enough to make Dorian feel all soft and gooey inside, and he sighed ruefully. He’d always known this man was going to ruin him, and here was the proof. He was doomed to spend the rest of his life as the squishy magister. No one would ever take him seriously again.

Completely worth it, obviously.

Seth started to reach for his tunic, but Dorian said, “Hold on a moment. You’re missing something.” Unlocking a drawer in his desk, he took out a carved wooden box. Inside, a pair of amulets rested on a velvet cushion – identical, save that one was fashioned from halla horn and the other from dragon bone. They’d been locked away for more than two years, and Dorian had almost forgotten how exquisitely beautiful they were, set in gold and carved into the shape of interlocking halla horns.

He held the dragon bone amulet out to Seth, but the elf didn’t take it. Blue-green eyes met his, solemn and expectant, and Dorian understood. The necklace was a symbol of the vow they’d made all those years ago, when they’d promised themselves to one another; this moment amounted to a renewal of that vow. Seth lowered his head, and Dorian slipped the chain around his neck. It had been a long time since he could even bear to look at that amulet, and the sight of it resting against Seth’s chest once more was almost too much for him. “ _‘Ma vhen’an is diane_ ,” he whispered, his voice husky.

Seth touched his forehead to Dorian’s. “ _Em tas. Ar eman nehn._ ” Then, bringing a hand to Dorian’s face, he said, “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” Dorian asked, and Seth smiled.

* * *

Sunlight glimmered through the gently swaying limbs of the ironwood tree, throwing moving shafts of light along the mosaic tiles. A few bright yellow leaves still clung to the branches, shivering with anticipation, their dry rustling like the whispers of an expectant crowd. Songbirds fleeing harsher climes perched all over the courtyard, throwing splashes of colour against the marble, and the petals of late-blooming flowers swirled across the tiles in little gyres of pink and purple. The breeze carried the scent of jasmine and cyprus, subtly salted with the tang of the sea. It was, in short, a beautiful morning – and it was about to become perfect.

The servants had gathered on the galleries, their expressions ranging from solemn to barely restrained excitement. Dorian could only guess at the expressions on the faces of his friends, arrayed in a semicircle at his back, and he didn’t care to speculate about his mother. Not that it mattered. None of them mattered in that moment. It felt as if there were only three of them in that courtyard: Dorian, his _amatus_ , and Divine Victoria, who radiated such serene joy standing before them that it was like being in the presence of Andraste herself. As many times as Dorian had pictured this moment, his imagination had never come close to the reality, and he was vaguely aware that he was trembling like a kitten. His blood felt effervescent, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if there was just the _slightest_ shiver in the Veil around him. He was excited and terrified and profoundly humbled, and it felt marvellous.

Also, he _looked_ marvellous, which was nearly as important. His tailor had truly undone himself, crafting an ensemble worthy of the Archon himself. An undertunic of gold silk, sleek and long-sleeved, came to a high collar under Dorian’s jaw, clasped with a single garnet. The overtunic of infused Vyrantium samite was a deep garnet hue, richly embroidered, with bloodstone shoulder caps and a wide sash belt of gold silk. The final flourish came in the form of the Tevinter serpent, its glittering golden scales climbing the right side of Dorian’s chest before coiling back to his breastbone, fangs bared, garnet eyes glaring defiantly at the world.

He was outdone only by his groom, whose frost-coloured velvet accented with blue vitriol looked so stunning against his silver hair that he practically glowed. Embroidery echoing the graceful vines of his _vallaslin_ climbed the left side of his overtunic in perfect mirror to Dorian’s serpent, twining across his collarbone to meet the proud head of a halla at his breast. The fur was of finely woven silver silk, the horns of mother-of-pearl; its eyes were magnificent aquamarines, serene as still water.

Dorian’s tailor had even been so good as to craft Chantry vestments for Divine Victoria – minus the ridiculous hat, to the relief of all concerned.

She stood before them on the short steps at the edge of the serenity pool, and when she raised a hand, the murmurs in the courtyard fell abruptly silent.

“My friends,” she said. “We are gathered in the sight of the Maker to witness this union, and to call upon the blessings of Holy Andraste for these men as they promise to love and honour each other for as long as they shall live.” Her dark gaze fell to Seth. “Setheneras Lavellan, may the Maker witness your vow.”

Blue-green eyes met Dorian’s, and it felt as if he were falling, freely and without fear, a rush unlike anything he’d ever known. “ _Ar dirtha’var’en ara’len to ma, Dorian Pavus._ _Var lath emen suledin; nuva ra uth ea tath. Nuva el aravel ea enansal. Bellanaris._ ”

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Dorian said, _“_ _Ar ematha_ _mar dirtha’var’en_.”

“Dorian Pavus,” said the Divine, “may the Maker witness your vow.”

He was shaking now, overcome with emotions he could not even name. But somehow, his voice was steady. “I pledge my eternal love to you, Setheneras Lavellan, and my unfailing devotion, now and forever. May Andraste bless our home and our hearts as we walk together in her sight.”

“I embrace your promise,” Seth whispered, his eyes wet. Then he took the dragon bone amulet from around his neck and twisted it apart like a puzzle, separating it into two halves. Dorian did the same with his own amulet, relieved at how easily it came apart in his hands. He held out half of his to Seth, but the elf laughed and said, “No, the other one.”

“Right. Sorry.”

They exchanged halves. Then, blinking back a highly inconvenient shimmer of tears, Dorian twisted the two pieces together, twining the halla horn through the dragon bone to make a new whole. He stared at it for a moment, hand still trembling, not quite able to believe they’d reached this moment at last. Then he slipped the amulet over Seth’s head and ducked to receive his own.

Divine Victoria raised her voice again. “I call upon Holy Andraste to bless these vows, and I consecrate them in her name. May you walk always in the Maker’s light.”

Seth leaned in and kissed him, and that was Dorian done for; he brought a hand to the elf’s face in a pathetic effort to hide his tears from their audience – though he wasn’t sure why he bothered. A quick glance around the courtyard revealed that there was scarcely a dry eye in the house. Ellana was practically sobbing, her head on Cullen’s shoulder. Bull was blubbering away, earning himself a punch from Sera, who was swiping savagely at her own tears. Aquinea dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief that was worth a small house, and even Austus, that dry old husk, was looking a little dewy.

As for Divine Victoria, she had apparently forgotten to bring a handkerchief, and when Dorian offered her his, she scowled through her tears and said, “Not. A. Word.”

Then the servants erupted in cheers, and someone dumped a basket of rose petals over the railing – which set Maggie to barking and chasing them around like a puppy, and the entire affair was just so syrupy and perfectly ridiculous that Dorian couldn’t stop laughing, kissing Seth over and over and wondering what in the Maker he had ever done to deserve something this perfect.

Except save the world, obviously. Three times. Not that he was counting.

“We’ve earned this,” Seth whispered, as though reading his thoughts. “ _Ahn inan danem mala gasha._ What was once sundered, now whole.”

Dorian tilted his head. “Is that a poem?”

“A song, only in reverse. The words are, _what was once whole, now sundered_.”

“About the waking world and the Fade?”

“Probably.” He shrugged, still smiling. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, we are whole again, and we’re going to stay that way.”

“ _Bellanaris_ ,” Dorian murmured, and he gathered his husband close.

* * *

“It was a lovely ceremony,” Aquinea said, perching beside her son. Dorian and Ellana were sipping _manise_ on the little steps, a position which, in addition to showing the gardens to best advantage, had the benefit of deterring Sera from trying to swim in the serenity pool.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Ellana said wistfully. “I wish our keeper could have seen it.”

“She’ll have her chance, apparently,” Dorian said. “I’m told she’s expressed a desire to preside over a second ceremony. Next summer, in the Free Marches.” Ellana looked surprised, as well she might; Dorian was himself still marvelling at this bit of news.

Aquinea arched a dark eyebrow. “Indeed? I would say brush up on your Elven, but evidently you don’t need to. I had no idea you spoke it.”

“Better than I do,” Ellana said. “Dorian and my brother benefited from some expert tutelage, thanks to Morrigan and the Well of Sorrows. Seth already spoke quite a bit; now I think he’s more fluent than most keepers. That’s one of the reasons he was able to persuade the clans to let him restore the Temple of Din’an Hanin.”

“Ah, yes.” Aquinea nodded. “Restoring history is always a worthy endeavour. And what will become of the project now that your brother is here?”

“I’ll oversee it myself for a while.”

“With Cullen’s help, of course,” Dorian purred.

Ellana blushed but otherwise left that alone. “Seth can take over when he comes back for the summer. But…” She stood up and dusted herself off. “I should let you two have a moment. More _manise_ , Dorian?”

“If you insist.”

Aquinea’s dark gaze followed the younger Lavellan across the courtyard. “A lovely girl. Nearly as pretty as her brother.”

“He is rather fetching, isn’t he?” Dorian leaned back on his elbows, smiling like the cat that got the cream as he admired his husband from afar. At the moment, Seth was gracefully enduring the exuberant attentions of Harmon, their Dalish manservant. If the young valet had a tail, it would have been wagging; as it was, Dorian wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t drooling.

“Your man has a case of hero worship,” Aquinea said dryly, guessing his thoughts.

“So it would seem. Happily, Seth is quite accustomed to that. Though it will be fascinating to see how the glitterati of Minrathous take to him.”

He wasn’t deliberately trying to goad his mother, but he wasn’t tiptoeing, either. She needed to know that he had no intention of hiding his _amatus_ away. Not anymore.

If she was annoyed, however, she gave no sign, shrugging a bare shoulder. “Whatever they think, they will be fawning to his face, at least at first. You can use that.”

“You’re right,” Dorian said, trying not to sound surprised at this advice.

“I may not have a seat in the Magisterium, but I know Minrathous society. This city is a chessboard, and I have played the game for a very long time. If ever I can be of service to you…”

“Thank you, Mother. I… might just take you up on that.”

There was a stretch of silence, both of them gazing out over the festivities. “Married for love,” Aquinea murmured, shaking her head in apparent wonderment. “What a novel idea. In a ceremony presided over by the White Divine, no less.” At this, her glance fell to Cassandra, who was surrounded by half a dozen breathless servants. Her Holiness was doing her best to appear gracious about it all, but she was still Cassandra underneath those vestments, and her mounting impatience could be sensed clear across the courtyard.

“Admit it,” Dorian said. “You’re imagining her duelling the Black Divine right now.”

Aquinea laughed. “Can you blame me? Mage versus Seeker, man versus woman, the Imperium versus the south. So many scores to be settled all at once.”

“She’d wipe the floor with him.”

“I believe she would. And I would cheer her all the way.” She patted Dorian’s knee, and he blinked in mild disbelief. This was possibly the most affectionate gesture she’d made since he was five years old, and he scarcely knew what to do with himself. “You have some extraordinary friends, my son,” she said.

Then a voice behind them cried, “ _Skinny dip!_ ” and water splashed noisily, accompanied by a familiar manic laugh.

Dorian sighed. “Probably best not to turn around.”

”Probably,” Aquinea agreed.

Later, after he’d chased Sera out of the serenity pool, Dorian did another tour of the courtyard, checking on his guests. Predictably, he found Bull near the buffet, chatting with Cullen. Between them, they’d polished off practically everything, though they’d steered clear of Tarea’s grilled squid, which just proved what a pair of rubes they were.

“Cassandra did a real nice job,” Bull said around a mouthful of cheese. “Short and sweet. Cullen here cried like a baby.”

“ _What?_ ” Cullen scowled. “I did nothing of the sort! You were the one honking into your handkerchief!”

“I saw that,” Dorian said. “Blubbering like a baby ox without his tama. I had no idea you were so sensitive, Bull.”

“Nah. I was just depressed that I missed my shot with you, big guy.” He threw an arm around Dorian’s neck and yanked him close, and Dorian spent a terrifying few seconds contemplating an ignominious demise suffocated in a Qunari armpit.

“Have you seen Seth?” he asked, extracting himself with some difficulty.

“Not for a while. Said he was going upstairs to find more of that elven hooch, but I guess he hasn’t come down yet.”

Dorian hid a smile. “I’ll go find him.” Then, over his shoulder as he walked away: “Try the squid, you big babies. It’s divine.”

He found Seth in the study as advertised, though of course he wasn’t there to fetch _manise_. The elf stood at the window, gazing out over the rooftops of Minrathous. He toyed absently with the amulet around his neck, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was real. Dorian knew the feeling. “Needed a moment, did you?” he murmured, slipping his arms around his husband’s waist.

“I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“About?”

“What tomorrow will look like, and the day after.” He smiled, tipping his head back to rest against Dorian’s shoulder. “I’ve seen so little of the city. With our friends setting sail tomorrow, we’ll have some time on our hands. Do you think we might…?”

“Of course. There’s an important vote in the Magisterium, but after that, I’d be happy to show you around.”

“Really?” Seth glanced over his shoulder.

“Don’t look so surprised, _amatus_. I promised you things would be different this time, and I meant it. Besides…” He kissed the elf’s neck. “I don’t think I can bear to be apart from you for more than a few minutes at a time.”

Seth turned around, drawing him into a kiss. “This must be what they mean by the honeymoon period.”

“Must be,” Dorian murmured between kisses. “I could spend the rest of my life… _mmm_ … just doing this.”

“Kissing sweetly by the window? No, you couldn’t.”

“No?”

Seth’s mouth curved wickedly. “No, and I’ll prove it to you. Lock the door, Magister Pavus.”

“Your humble servant, Inquisitor,” Dorian said with a flick of his wrist, and the door flew closed with a decisive _click._


	41. Chapter 41

**Epilogue**

An airy silence hung over the senate floor. The Chamber Master scanned the benches before lifting his gaze to the balconies, but no one else stepped forward, so he waved a hand, and the tallying crystal flared to life. “Once again, the motion on the floor is for the suspension of Ordinance 641.b prohibiting the use of Certain Magics in the forging of weapons, for a period of one year, subject to renewal. All in favour.”

A soft rustle stirred the chamber as the assembled magisters reached for the runed coins that would signal their votes. Dorian spun his restlessly in his fingers, gaze riveted to the tallying crystal as it pulsed yellow with each successive _yea._ There was no doubt the vote would be a close one. If Maevaris was nervous, however, she didn’t let on, examining her fingernails while the cantrips continued to register. Finally, when the crystal ceased its flickering, the Chamber Master said, “All opposed.”

Dorian flipped his coin _nay_ side up and pressed his thumb against the rune, sending a pulse of magic through it. Beside him, Maevaris did the same, as did the rest of the Lucerni, and the tallying crystal began to flicker again – still yellow, signalling that the _yea_ votes outnumbered the _nay_. “Come on,” Dorian muttered as the flickering began to slow. _Please tell me you haven’t disappointed me again, you pack of fools._ And then the crystal turned orange, and a gasp went up from the floor. An orange crystal signalled a tied vote.

For a long, tense moment, the crystal remained orange. Then it flickered once more and turned red, and a cheer went up from the Lucerni balcony.

“The motion is defeated,” the Chamber Master intoned gravely. “By a single vote.”

“My, my,” Mae said, arching a golden eyebrow. “A good thing you decided to join us today, Magister Pavus.”

“What can I say? I do enjoy a spot of drama.”

They linked arms and started toward to the stairs. “You’ve been enjoying a lot more than that, from the look of you,” Mae said, throwing him a sly glance. “You’re positively glowing. A lady might suspect you’ve finally had yourself a good roll.”

“And she would be perfectly justified in her suspicions. Indeed, I’ve been rolling a shameful amount lately.”

“Do tell!” Mae affected a scandalized look. “And is it serious?”

“Terribly.”

“Better and better! I can’t wait to meet him.”

Tension crackled among the magisters filing out of the senate chamber. A close vote was always dramatic, but this particular motion had caused rather a lot of bitterness, and Dorian did not doubt there would be fallout. From what Mae’s letters had told him, the Lucerni and Priori factions had been feverishly undermining each other from the day Dorian set sail for the south, and it was only blind luck that he was back in town in time to cast the deciding vote. Which meant he would probably be singled out for Philion’s ire, despite the fact that he’d had virtually no role in the lobbying leading up to the vote. Already, he could feel the eyes on him as he and Mae made their way out to the courtyard.

“Tell me,” she said, “what was this urgent business in the south? Your letters were so mysterious.”

“It’s a long story, but if you’re free tonight—”

“Pavus!”

Dorian sighed. It did get tiresome, being right all the time.

Pasting on a smile, he turned. “Magister Philion. How delightful to see you.”

“Whom did you buy, Pavus? Or did you resort to threats?” Philion’s jowls quivered in fury, his colour so strained that he looked fit to explode.

“Yes, that’s where I’ve been these past few months. Hiding out, devoting myself entirely to sabotaging your little motion.”

“ _We had the votes._ ”

“Evidently not.”

The man was so wound up he wasn’t even thinking straight. “You will regret this, I swear to you.”

“Is there a problem?” called a smooth tenor from the foot of the steps.

Mae’s breath caught, but for a moment she was too stunned to muster anything more.

“Not at all, _amatus_ ,” Dorian said casually. “Just a bit of politics. Isn’t that right, Magister Philion? Oh, how rude of me! Please allow me to introduce my husband.”

Mae’s hand went to her breast. “Oh, Dorian,” she said, beaming. “Oh, _darling_.”

Philion was having some difficulty reconciling several aspects of this situation. He stared incredulously at the figure at the bottom of the stairs, who gave every indication of being a _man_ , and an elf besides. “Your what?”

“My husband,” Dorian repeated, enjoying this more than he probably should have.

Mae flew down to Seth and kissed him twice on each cheek, and he blushed adorably. “Hi, Mae,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

“Inquisitor.” She squeezed his hands, looking him up and down. “It’s been too long. You look marvellous, as always.”

Philion was still standing there gaping like a fish on dry land. “Inquisitor… Lavellan?”

“Yes, _that_ Inquisitor,” Dorian said dryly. “Seth, this is Magister Philion, of the Priori faction.”

Seth inclined his head. “Magister. A pleasure.”

Philion had been caught off guard, but he was an Altus, after all, and an experienced politician; he recovered swiftly, sweeping into a courtly bow. “The pleasure is mine, Inquisitor. And it seems congratulations are in order.”

“Why, thank you,” Dorian said. “We are incandescent with joy, obviously.”

Philion flashed a tight smile. “How lovely. Please do excuse me, friends, but I still have much to accomplish today.” With that, the old goat gathered what remained of his dignity and retreated.

“What was that all about?” Seth asked.

“Never mind.” Mae looped her arm through his. “We have _so much_ to celebrate! Where shall we go? The Orlesian bistro, or perhaps that darling new place by the bay?”

“As long as I don’t have to eat cheese,” Seth said. He was perfectly at his ease, strolling across the courtyard as though there were nothing unusual about a Dalish elf walking arm in arm with a magister in full view of half the Imperial Senate.

Dorian shook his head, marvelling at the sight — the first of many such marvels, he had no doubt. _It’s a brave new world, Dorian Pavus_ , he thought.

And what a glorious world it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roll credits!
> 
> And so we come to the end at last. It's been a great ride, and I'm humbled and happy that so many of you have taken it with me. I know there were some dark patches in there, and maybe a few tears, but happy endings are sweetest when they're well earned, and Dorian and Seth certainly earned theirs. It will be bittersweet leaving my boys behind, but I'm proud of the journey they took, and oh by the way, they saved the world too.
> 
> A huge and heartfelt thanks to everyone who took the time to comment and engage with me on this story. Your energy and enthusiasm kept this engine running -- don't ever doubt you're an integral part of the process. Keep well out there.


	42. Post-script: new material!

Hi all, just dropping a line to say I'll be posting some Dorian & Seth vignettes from time to time in a new fic, if you're interested in checking in on the boys. You can find The Spaces After here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069385/chapters/66093454

Stay well out there!


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